


Longing/Homecoming

by Army_of_Dorkness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes loves pancakes, Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finger Sucking, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, I accidentally wrote a Stucky novella, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Past Brainwashing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Steve Rogers-centric, T'Challa ships it, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Up all night to get Bucky, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 68,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Army_of_Dorkness/pseuds/Army_of_Dorkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Steve tries to help Bucky overcome the traumas of his past, he must come to terms with his own feelings towards his best friend.  But when it comes to recovery, even the love of a century (and the efforts of the best Wakandan scientists) may not be enough to undo the damage that HYDRA has inflicted on Bucky Barnes.  Steve Rogers must find a way to help save the love of his life from the horrors of his time as the Winter Soldier, or risk losing him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve’s stomach fluttered with something between anticipation and anxiety as he nosed the Quinjet down towards Central Wakanda. The futuristic buildings carved into the misty jungle rose up to meet him. His first and only previous visit had left a bittersweet impression of the city. For Steve, it was a place for safety, for hope – and for goodbyes. Now he was finally back, after what felt like forever (in all actuality, it had only been a matter of months), but he still felt nervous for what he might find. 

Bucky was much improved, T’Challa had said when he contacted Steve. All the best scientists in Wakanda had been working diligently to free his mind from his Hydra programming, and as far as they could tell, there was hope for him yet. But, T’Challa had warned, there was still a long road ahead. And apparently Steve was a necessary part of that road. 

Steve landed the Quinjet, shouldered his bag, stepped out into the humid air of Wakanda, and was surprised to see T’Challa already striding across the landing pad. He raised his hand in greeting. T’Challa responded in kind. 

“It is good to see you again,” said T’Challa as they shook hands.

“Always a pleasure,” Steve responded.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Or would you perhaps like to rest after your journey? We have prepared very comfortable accommodations for you during your stay here in Central Wakanda.”

“Well, thank you for offering, but I’m quite alright for now.” 

“Very well,” said T’Challa, “In that case, shall we move on to discussing the business at hand?”

“If now is a good time, I’d certainly like to,” said Steve. He hoped he didn’t sound too pushy, but all he could think about was how Bucky was doing.

T’Challa nodded. “Follow me. I suspected you might wish to know more about your friend. I will brief you on his condition as we walk.”

As T’Challa led Steve off the landing pad, into the building, and down a seemingly endless series of hallways and elevators, he explained how the Wakandan scientists had approached treating Bucky, deciding that it was critical to erase the HYDRA programming without further damaging his memory. He described the procedure they had used, combining top-secret S.H.I.E.L.D. tech used in a defunct memory-replacement program with Wakandan neural stimulation technology to specifically target the HYDRA-implanted triggers that turned Bucky into the Winter Soldier. But, he explained to Steve, in order to protect Bucky’s memory, the erasure was imperfect. That was the catch-22 – Bucky needed to leave behind the Winter Soldier if he wanted to recover, but if he forgot the Winter Soldier entirely, he would never be able to heal on a psychological level. And that was why they needed Steve. He needed to help deprogram Bucky through exposure to his trigger phrase until Bucky no longer lost control of his own mind when he heard it. Then, and only then, could they move on to the next stage – Bucky going home, and gradually making some sort of peace with his past. 

Steve listened as T’Challa relayed all this to him. The Wakandan king’s characteristically soft-spoken account didn’t do much to stop Steve’s stomach from doing backflips. He was scared for Bucky – but, and it pained him to admit it – he was also scared of Bucky. He remembered his previous encounters with the Winter Soldier. None of them had gone well. Some nights, he still had dreams about the Winter Soldier aiming a gun at his torso as they slowly fell from the sky in the Helicarrier, and begging him to _please, please, remember me, Buck, it’s me, remember me…_

Steve realized he was clenching his jaw and tried to breathe slowly, bringing himself back into the present moment. This wasn’t a dream, and this wasn’t the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. – this was his chance to help his best friend. The only man who remembered how he once wore newspapers in his shoes. The only man who knew Steve Rogers back when his only shield was a garbage can lid. And by God, he was going to give it his best shot. 

* * * 

“Would you like to see him today?” T’Challa asked.

“I certainly would, if he’s up for it,” said Steve.

“I assumed as much,” T’Challa said with a small smile, leading Steve down one short hallway and beckoning to an unmarked white door. Steve had the uneasy feeling that T’Challa had known what he would answer long before he posed the question. T’Challa gestured for Steve to open the door, but Steve hesitated for a moment. Ever since he’d watched Bucky slip into cryo-sleep a few months ago, he’d thought of little else but this moment. He wondered what Bucky had been thinking about for these past months. Based on his own knowledge of what it was like to spend a long stint on ice, probably nothing at all. 

He reached for the handle and opened the door. The room beyond was sparse and white, with the honeycomb pattern on the walls he recognized from S.H.I.E.L.D. containment sites for the Hulk. There was a window, which appeared to be heavily reinforced glass, looking out over the city, and beyond into the jungle. And under the window, sitting on a cot made up in white sheets, was Bucky. 

The first thing Steve noticed was that Bucky’s metal arm was back. Exactly as it had been, which was the most surprising thing – right down to the red star glinting on his shoulder. Other than that, he was just as Steve had left him, right down to the white tank top and the brown hair falling in his stubbled face. 

“Bucky,” Steve said, standing an arm’s distance from his friend.

“Steve. How are ya?” Bucky asked, smiling with a crinkle of sadness around his eyes that seemed all too familiar to Steve these days.

“I’ve been pretty alright. Trying to keep the Avengers together, trying to patch things up with Tony before the next big crisis hits – the usual. How have you been, Buck?”

“Well, I’ve been asleep, mostly. The past few days have been… interesting.”

T’Challa, who had been standing back at a respectful distance, added, “The treatment has its discomforts.” 

“What this cat-costumed bastard means is that half of Wakanda has probably heard me screaming by now,” Bucky explained.

“Language,” sighed Steve. At least this was a constant in their friendship. Steve had been chastising Bucky for cursing since the 1930s. 

Ignoring him, Bucky continued, “I think I have a fighting chance to get my mind back. But Steve, I need to know. I need to know for sure that the trigger they’ve planted in me won’t work any more. If I can’t get them out, I can’t ever feel safe in my own mind. You know that.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And the only way I can know for sure is if I can hear the trigger and not become the Winter Soldier. You’re the only one I trust to do this with me, Steve. You’re the only one who I know could stop me. And you’re the only one who’s been able to get me to turn away from my mission, even a little bit.”

Steve closed his eyes. He could feel the bullets in his gut again, his shield falling into the Potomac, the metal fist leaving his face a mess of blood and bruises, and the sudden shift on Bucky’s face from blind rage to horror as recognition sank in. That was the worst part of the memory, the worst part of his nightmare – not the bullets, not the bruises, not the broken nose – Bucky’s look of agony. 

“Steve?” Bucky said, concern heavy in his voice.

“Remember our promise, Buck? Till the end of the line? Well, I intend to keep it.”


	2. Chapter 2

After that, T’Challa had left them to talk for a time. Steve told Bucky all about how he’d been working with Wanda to help her gain confidence in her powers, how he’d annoyed Sam by setting a new PR for his half-marathon time at the National Mall, and how Natasha had introduced him to both Netflix and dim sum. Bucky seemed most amused by Steve annoying Sam, which Steve supposed wasn’t that surprising. 

After a time, the sun began to set, and both Steve and Bucky began yawning. T’Challa, once again seeming to anticipate what Steve would ask for even before he asked for it, appeared again to lead Steve to his room. 

“Steve, thank you for doing this. I know it’s a lot to ask,” said Bucky right before Steve left.

“You’ll always be worth it to me, Buck,” Steve replied, gently clapping his hand on Bucky’s flesh-and-blood right shoulder. 

Bucky smiled ruefully. “I hope someday I can pay it back to you somehow.”

“You already have. A million times over.” 

“Well, we’ll see if you feel the same way tomorrow.”

“I know I always will, Bucky. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

T’Challa led Steve back down the hall and through another maze of corridors and elevators until they arrived at his room. It was minimalist yet cozy, with a simply made-up bed, an adjoining bathroom, a small table adorned with a tray full of mini sandwiches and fresh fruit, and a window with a spectacular view of the jungle. T’Challa wished Steve a good night and left him to settle in. 

“I will see you in the morning. Sleep well, I am sure tomorrow will be a tiring day,” T’Challa said with a nod.

“Thank you for your hospitality. Good night to you, too.” 

There were no Hulk-proof walls or panels of reinforced glass here. Steve wondered how Bucky must feel, knowing that despite his host's benevolent intentions, he was still essentially a prisoner. Steve spent a lot of time worrying about how Bucky must feel. He had only been able to stomach reading through the leaked Winter Soldier files once, and they still made him feel sick. I remember every one of them, Bucky had said. All those lives, snuffed out by HYDRA. Carried out by the same person who had tenderly patched him up after a dozen ill-fated fistfights, the same person who had given him a home after his mother had died, the same person who had fought beside him to free the world from the evil grasp of Nazis and HYDRA. Bucky hadn’t even wanted Steve to enlist, he’d wanted him to stay home and safe… and instead, he’d led Bucky onto that godforsaken train. 

Steve knew he couldn’t doubt his choices. After all, if he hadn’t met Dr. Erskine and gone to Europe, Bucky probably would have died on Zola’s operating table, along with so many other POWs. But he sometimes wished he could go back in time and tell Bucky not to follow him onto that train. Bucky could’ve come back from the war and found a beautiful wife and raised some lovely kids and lived a happy life during all those years Steve had spent in the ice. And maybe, just maybe, when Steve was brought back up out of the ice, he could have met Bucky at least one last time when he was a very old man, having lived a long and full and happy life. Imagining it gave him a melancholy twinge he couldn’t quite place, but after reading Bucky’s files, he knew that if he could, he’d gladly take on all the melancholy in the world to undo what HYDRA had done to his best friend. 

Steve realized that he was crying. He wiped at his cheeks, and decided that he should eat something. He chose a ham and cheese sandwich, along with a few mango slices (he’d discovered that mango was his favorite fruit last year, when Natasha and Sam had decided that it was time for him to try tropical fruit). He showered, brushed his teeth, put on a pair of clean boxers, and went to bed. 

In his dream, he was on the train with Bucky. But Bucky was punching him, Steve’s shoulders dangling precariously out the open train door. Steve screwed his eyes closed against the blows, and when he opened them, Bucky’s face was replaced with Zola’s. _Please, take me instead_ , Steve tried to say, but Zola only laughed. Steve awoke in a cold sweat. It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

Steve awoke the next morning to a knock on his door. “Just a moment,” he said, jumping out of bed and pulling on a white t-shirt and a pair of khaki pants. “Come in!”

The door opened, and T’Challa entered, accompanied by an elegant-looking woman with a shaved head, carrying a tray piled with breakfast food, a steaming mug of coffee, and a tall glass of orange juice. She exchanged this new tray for the one from last night (still piled high with uneaten fruit and sandwiches, which Steve felt slightly guilty about). 

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Steve. 

“You are welcome,” she replied, her voice as formal and proud as her stature. “I suggest that you eat more of this spread than the last. If what T’Challa has told me is true, as I am sure it is, you will need your strength for today.” She gave a subtle nod to both of them and exited the room. 

“Please,” T’Challa gestured at the food. “Eat. While you do, I will brief you on what to expect today.”

Steve pulled out a chair at the little table and began to dig in to a pile of eggs and bacon. T’Challa pulled out the other chair and sat down. 

“This next stage of treatment for your friend is exposure therapy,” explained T’Challa. “As you know, we need to strengthen his mind against his trigger phrase, and the only way to accomplish that is through repeated exposure to the phrase until it no longer acts as a trigger. We can deem the treatment successful when Mr. Barnes no longer responds to the phrase by falling into his Winter Soldier mode and offering to comply with HYDRA orders. But this process will take time, and may not be foolproof.

“Your role in all this will to be in the room with your friend while the therapy takes place. We know that you are the only person who has ever successfully made Mr. Barnes turn away from his orders while under HYDRA mind control. My best neuroscientists and psychologists agree that by repeatedly exposing Mr. Barnes to his trigger phrase while you help subdue him and remind him of his identity, he can eventually develop an immunity to his trigger.”

Steve nodded and took a sip of orange juice. The woman had been right; he was going to need his strength today.

“It will be just you and Mr. Barnes in a secure room,” T’Challa continued. “He will be triggered remotely by a speaker system. The scientists and myself will observe through an audio-video feed. If we determine that your friend is posing lethal danger to you, the room is equipped with a fail-safe tranquilizing system. We will flood the room with a gas that will cause you and Mr. Barnes to temporarily lose consciousness. Side effects may include a headache, nausea, and disorientation, but recovery is generally rapid. My scientists have ensured that it is effective even against super-soldiers. Your physiology is… challenging,” T’Challa said with a slight smile. 

“Tell me about it,” Steve said with more bitterness than he’d intended. He thought back to the days after the train. No amount of liquor had been able to blur the scene replaying over and over in his head, Bucky falling from just beyond his fingertips. He hadn’t been strong enough to save him, but he’d been too strong to numb himself to the crushing weight of guilt. The super-soldier metabolism was a burden at times.

“I will give you an hour to get ready. I recommend you wear your full suit. This is not going to be an easy fight.”

“I know.” 

* * *

An hour later, dressed in his full Captain America suit (but feeling naked without his shield, which still lay on the ground in Siberia), Steve followed T’Challa down another seemingly endless series of hallways and elevators to another unmarked white door. This one, however, appeared extremely reinforced. T’Challa allowed Steve to enter the room, then shut the door behind him. 

The room had the same honeycomb pattern to the white walls, ceiling, and floor. In the middle of the room, Bucky was strapped into a chair, his limbs secured by metal restraints. He wore the same tactical outfit he’d had on when Steve first encountered the Winter Soldier. 

“Hey,” said Bucky. He looked up with a weak, forced smile. Steve saw that his forehead was drenched in sweat, his hair clinging to his face. 

“Hey there, Buck,” Steve said. He tried to sound reassuring, but the tremor behind his voice betrayed him. 

“They say they’ve gotta make it as much like HYDRA as possible,” Bucky said, nodding at his clothes and the chair. “I think they’ve done a pretty good job.” He said it with a small chuckle, but Steve heard the quaver in his voice, and saw his eyes watering. He couldn’t imagine the courage it took for Bucky to put himself through this, reliving the torture of losing control. 

“Please don’t be scared, Bucky. I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Stevie,” Bucky said, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

“You won’t. You’re stronger than HYDRA, Bucky. I know you are. No matter what they put in your mind, no matter what they made you do, you’ll always be James Buchanan Barnes. You’re the best guy I know. And they can’t ever steal that from you.”

“They already _did_ ,” Bucky said miserably. 

“Well, we’re gonna get you back,” said Steve. 

Suddenly, a voice emitted from the speakers. “Are you ready to begin?” it asked. 

“Yes,” said Bucky.

“Yes,” said Steve. 

“I will now recite the trigger phrase. All observers, prepare for use of tranquilizing failsafe.”

Steve swallowed, his stomach doing flips. Bucky closed his eyes. His fists were clenched so tight, Steve could see that the knuckles on his right hand where white. 

The disembodied voice began to speak, in Russian, “Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.” Bucky cried out as the voice spoke, a horrible, animal noise, like a creature wounded in the jaws of a trap. “Good morning, Soldier.”

“Ready to comply,” Bucky replied, the fear and pain in his eyes replaced with something blank and dead and violent. The metal restraints slowly lifted from his limbs. Steve steeled himself. 

Bucky rushed at him, his fist a blur as it flew toward Steve’s face. Steve ducked, narrowly missing the blow. Bucky whirled, kicking out. Steve took a blow to the chest from Bucky’s foot, and the air in his lungs promptly rushed out. Steve gasped as Bucky flew at him again, but managed to block a barrage of punches. 

Steve managed to push Bucky back, but the fury in his best friend’s eerily dead eyes didn’t subside. “Bucky,” Steve cried out, “It’s me!” 

Bucky looked even more enraged. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Steve swallowed hard, his mind echoing with _who the hell is Bucky, who the hell is Bucky, who the hell is Bucky?_ Those five words took him back to the fight with the Winter Soldier, the mask tumbling to the ground, the moment of pure shock chilling the pit of his stomach… An instant later, Bucky had him in a chokehold. As his vision narrowed, the air seemed to get foggy, and it occurred to him that the room had an odd smell to it –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is not so good at fighting Bucky... or processing his feelings. I hope folks are enjoying this so far! It's been a blast to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for anyone with emetophobia, this chapter does have a couple references to feeling sick/past sickness that could potentially be upsetting. Nothing graphic, but as someone with emetophobia myself, I thought I'd give y'all fair warning.

When he came to, the room was spinning and his breakfast was threatening to make a second appearance. His pulse pounded in his temples. “C’mon… I had him on the ropes,” Steve muttered mock-indignantly. 

“I am sure you did,” T’Challa said over the speakers, “But to be safe, we decided to implement the tranquilizing gas.”

“I noticed,” groaned Steve. He slowly tried to raise himself off the floor, but the room began to spin more rapidly, and he fell back to the ground. Bucky lay prone beside him, letting out a low moan. “Bucky, are you… yourself?” asked Steve.

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m gonna be sick. Fuck whatever this ‘failsafe gas’ is.”

“C’mon, pal. Word choice. Please.”

“Go to hell,” Bucky mumbled. 

“I think we might be there already, Buck.”

Bucky snorted. “I feel worse than that time we did that horrible spinning ride at Coney Island.” 

“Those hot dogs tasted so much worse coming up than they did going down,” chuckled Steve. 

“Remember how that one girl… ah, I think her name was Lucille… the one you thought was cute? Remember how she saw you getting sick in the trash can and screamed?”

“Ugh. I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” Steve laughed. “I had the worst luck with girls. Still do, I guess.”

“Some things never change, Stevie,” Bucky said, smiling. Then, he grew serious. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay, Buck. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this.”

“I don’t care. I’m sorry. No matter what I do, no matter what I say when I’m the Winter Soldier… when I’m _me_ , you’re my best friend. Don’t you let _him_ make you forget that.” Bucky looked pained as he tried to cope with what he’d just done. Steve assumed that Bucky referring to the Winter Soldier in the third person was probably a sign of progress, but he wasn’t sure. Regardless, the room had stopped spinning, which was undoubtedly positive.

“Till the end of the line, Buck,” Steve said, smiling. He reached out to Bucky, taking his right hand in his own. He gave a gentle squeeze. 

Bucky smiled and squeezed back. “Till the end of the line, pal.” 

“Are you ready to go again?” T’Challa asked over the speakers. 

“Yes,” the two of them answered in unison. Bucky stepped back into the chair, and the Russian words came over the speakers. Bucky screamed. This time, Steve was ready. 

They fought for what seemed like hours. The Winter Soldier was frighteningly fast, his combat style somehow both elegant and feral. But finally, Steve caught him in a chokehold. “Bucky,” he hissed, struggling to hold him down, “It’s me, Steve. C’mon, man. You know who I am. You know who you are.” 

“Go to hell,” the Winter Soldier replied, struggling more violently.

“Do you remember what you said when you gave me the key to your apartment, Buck?”

“I don’t know who you are,” the Winter Soldier spat.

“You said, ‘I’m with you till the end of the line.’ Remember?”

Something in the Winter Soldier’s eyes seemed to loosen, and Steve knew that Bucky was fighting his way back to the surface. Back on the Helicarrier, those words had been the key, the thing that had unlocked whatever door HYDRA had trapped Bucky on the other side of. “I… don’t… know… you…” the Winter Soldier choked out unconvincingly, panic in his eyes.

“You’re lying. You know me. And not just from the Smithsonian. I kept my mattress on your bedroom floor. Sometimes when it was really cold in the winter, you’d complain that my teeth chattering were keeping you up at night, and you’d tell me to get in bed with you so you ‘could get some goddamn shut-eye,’ and I’d always tell you to watch your language. And you’d just laugh and let me put my feet against your legs, even though I’m sure they were really really cold for you, Buck. And that one winter we both got the flu, and even though you were so sick, you were so worried about me, and you stayed up all night with me when I was coughing up blood…”

“I was afraid you were gonna die, and I didn’t want you to be alone,” Bucky replied, tears welling in his eyes. He’d stopped struggling. Steve let go of his neck. They both sat on the floor.

“Bucky,” said Steve.

“It’s me,” Bucky replied. 

Steve could feel tears forming in his own eyes. “It sure is,” he said. 

“I’m so tired,” said Bucky. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell back onto the floor, passed out. Steve could only imagine how exhausting it must have been for him to struggle back to being himself. Without thinking, Steve reached out and brushed Bucky’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. He looked surprisingly peaceful, his lips open slightly. Steve figured he should let Bucky get some rest. 

“Let’s call it a day,” said Steve.

“Very good work,” replied T’Challa. The door opened, and Steve walked out. Even though it was barely afternoon, Steve went straight to bed. 

* * *

Steve woke up very early the next morning, before the sun had even begun to brighten the sky. His stomach rumbled. He was starving. On a hunch, he cracked the door to his room open. As he had suspected, there was a covered tray sitting just outside the doorway. He picked it up and set it on the table, and lifted the lid to find a spread of fresh fruit. Gratefully, he ate more mango slices, and then dug in to some diced pineapple and ripe strawberries.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise from his bag. His phone. He walked over and grabbed it. It was a text from Natasha. _How’s Wakanda?_ she’d asked.

_T’Challa is a wonderful host. And Bucky seems to be getting better_ , Steve replied.

A few minutes later, his phone pinged again. _Glad to hear it. Do you have any idea when you’ll be back in D.C.? Movie and takeout night isn’t the same without you._

_No, I don’t know yet. I’m very… involved in this whole process. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an idea._ Steve sighed. He did miss Nat. It was lonely, living in an era that still felt just as much like “the future” as Howard Stark’s flying car had seemed the night he met Dr. Erskine. But she and Sam were the two people who most made him feel like he could genuinely belong.

_No worries. Well, when you get back, we’ll watch some fun movies and get takeout from that Thai place you like so much._

_Sounds great. Miss you._

_Miss you too, Rogers._

Steve looked out the window. The sky was beginning to glow pink along the horizon. He sat in solitude, lost in thought. Most of his thoughts were about Bucky. He wondered if Bucky was awake right now. And if he wasn’t, what did Bucky dream about? Did the train haunt him, like it had haunted Steve even after all these decades? Or did his nightmares revolve around the horrors Steve had only read about in his file? He wished so badly to be back in Bucky’s family’s apartment in Brooklyn, when his nightmares had been about nothing worse than back-alley fistfights – and Bucky never seemed to have nightmares at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that Natasha is singlehandedly responsible for Steve not living off boiled potatoes and meatloaf like the mid-century boy that he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little short! The next one will be quite a bit longer.

A few hours later, Steve heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said. 

T’Challa entered, accompanied by the same elegant woman holding another tray of hot breakfast foods.

“Good morning,” said T’Challa. 

“Good morning to both of you,” replied Steve, quickly tidying up his fruit tray. The woman replaced it with the new tray. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said to her. 

“Again, I would suggest you eat up. I am sure you will need it,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve responded. She exited the room with a small nod to T’Challa.

“How are you this morning?” asked T’Challa.

“I’m alright. A bit worn out from yesterday, but I’ll manage,” Steve said, beginning to tuck into his plate of eggs and bacon.

“I was very impressed with how you handled him yesterday. You two clearly have a… special connection,” T’Challa said.

“Well, he is my best friend.”

T’Challa squinted at him slightly, as if he was noticing something on his face that Steve was unaware of. Steve wondered if he had egg on his face, but then T’Challa said, “I believe there may be more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?”

T’Challa shrugged. “In our lives, many people come and go. Even in the length of normal lives. For two people to find each other, and fight to hold on to each other, across so much time and space… That is something rare. That might be what you could call fate, or destiny.” 

Steve felt a strange tightness in his chest – a feeling he hadn’t known since before the serum, back when his lungs had to fight for air. “I suppose that’s true,” he replied quietly, feeling like he was leaving something unsaid. 

“Once you are done eating, shall we begin?” 

“Yes. I’ll just need to get dressed.”

“Very good. I will be back in twenty minutes,” T’Challa said, standing up.

“I’ll be ready,” said Steve. He finished his breakfast, put on his uniform, and sat back in the chair, waiting. 

Soon, there was a knock on the door. T’Challa escorted him back to the reinforced white room. Once again, Bucky was strapped into the chair. He looked somewhat better than he had the day before, but his forehead still gleamed with sweat. He looked up. “Good morning, Stevie,” he said.

“Morning, Bucky!” Steve said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “How ya doing?”

“Well, I’m strapped into a chair and about to lose control of my mind… but other than that, I’m just _swell_.” Steve clenched his jaw, feeling like he’d already been punched. Bucky, seeing his discomfort, continued, “Sorry. Gallows humor. It’s the only way to survive sometimes, you know?”

“I guess so, Buck.” 

“Are you ready to begin?” T’Challa said through the speakers.

“Yep,” said Bucky.

“Yes, sir,” said Steve. 

Once again, the Russian words began, and once again, Bucky cried out. The sound made Steve wince. And once again, Steve fought the dead-eyed assassin until he had the Winter Soldier in a chokehold, and reminded him over and over that he was Bucky. Sweet, kind Bucky who had always stood up for Steve, even though Steve was just a scrawny weakling that most guys simply ignored. Who gave him a home when he had nowhere to go. Whose first thought when Steve rescued him from Zola’s lab was if Steve’s transformation had hurt. 

For the next two weeks, day after day, Steve battled the Winter Soldier over and over, trying to force Bucky back to the surface. It was amazing, realizing how something so utterly bizarre could become routine, but somehow it did. Really, Steve’s whole life was one long string of bizarre things becoming routine for him. How had two boys who met in Depression-era Brooklyn ever ended up in Wakanda, mixed up in a web of HYDRA and superheroes? And yet somehow, here they were, undoing his best friend’s brainwashing with the help of a man who dressed up in a vibranium cat costume. Sometimes, it almost made Steve laugh – but the pain in Bucky’s eyes made laughter difficult.

Gradually, bit by bit, the treatment began to work. Bucky’s screams at his trigger phrase grew less and less intense, and it took less and less to remind him who he was. And finally, one day, when “soldier” came through the speakers, Bucky simply sighed in relief. Finally, it was over.


	5. Chapter 5

“You can take him home, but my psychologists say he will recover best with near-constant supervision and lots of therapy. I am sure Nick Fury knows someone who specializes in… unique cases.”

Steve nodded. T’Challa was right. Fury “knew a guy” for just about any situation. Steve was a bit surprised that T’Challa knew that Fury was alive, but he’d come to realize that T’Challa seemed to have a special gift for knowing things.

“Would you like to let him know?”

Steve nodded.

“I will escort you to his room immediately.” 

Bucky was sitting on his bed, staring out the window. He didn’t turn as Steve walked in. 

“Hey there. They say you’re ready to go home,” Steve said softly.

Bucky didn’t respond.

“If you’re ready, I can fly us back to D.C. in the Quinjet. We can leave right now if you want.” 

Bucky sighed and looked down at his feet.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

“I know they say it’s out of me, but what if it’s not? What if it’s just… waiting for the right moment?” Bucky clenched his fists.

“These scientists are the best in the world, Buck. They know more about the brain than anyone. If they say you’re okay to leave, then they’re _sure_. And anyway, I’ll be with you all the time to make sure nobody with bad intentions can get to you. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Bucky looked away, and when he spoke, Steve could tell that he was crying. “I don’t ever wanna go back… don’t ever wanna go back to the chair. If I ever have to… have to do the things I did again, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself. I don’t even know how I’m living with myself right now.”

“Bucky, I swear I will never let anyone make you into the Winter Soldier ever again. You’re my number one priority. Always have been, always will be.” He stepped forward, standing over Bucky. To his surprise, Bucky threw his arms around Steve’s waist, hugging him with a desperation that caught Steve off guard. Unsure of what to do, Steve awkwardly patted Bucky’s head, then decided better of it and bent down to return his embrace. “I _promise_ , Buck,” Steve whispered in his ear. 

On the way to the Quinjet, Steve texted Natasha, _Coming home now!_ Then, they said their goodbyes to T’Challa, thanking him profusely for his hospitality, and Steve flew them up out of Wakanda and towards the United States.

* * *

As the Quinjet hit cruising altitude, Steve started to tell Bucky about what to expect back in D.C. He told Bucky about his apartment, and how it wasn’t much to look at, but it had been specially equipped for security. Plus, he had a comfortable couch to sleep on until Bucky got his own bed (he insisted that Bucky should sleep in the actual bed, and refused to take no for an answer). He told Bucky about how he and Natasha had a weekly movie-and-takeout night, and explained how this had taught him not only about the past decades of cinema, but also about the wonders of modern cuisine. Bucky chuckled softly as Steve expounded upon the magic of being able to pick up the phone and order a pizza, or Chinese food, or Thai food, and how some places even let you order online now! He told him how Sam was the best to talk about his experience as a soldier with, because he was the only one who could really understand… other than Bucky himself of course, Steve added, when he noticed a jealous scowl spreading across Bucky’s face. Steve kept talking, trying to keep the mood light. He didn’t know what Bucky was feeling, but he didn’t want him to be scared. 

Eventually, Steve ran out of things to tell Bucky about life in D.C. Frankly, his life was pretty boring. He was the first to admit it; he was an old man, after all. They fell into silence. Bucky closed his eyes, and Steve flew the Quinjet in silence.

“Do you know why I got it back?” Bucky said after a long while. Steve jumped a little in surprise.

“Why you got what back?”

“My arm.”

“No, Buck, I don’t.” 

“It’s because I can’t ever forget. The psychologists… they told me I should get a new arm without the star. Move on. But I couldn’t do it.”

“Why?” 

“I’m not just Bucky any more, Steve. I’m him, too. I’m the Winter Soldier. For longer than I was just Bucky, I’ve been _him_. And if I try to erase that… if I try to forget…” Bucky trailed off.

Steve sat in silence, unsure of what to say. Or if he should say anything.

Finally, Bucky continued. “If I try to forget, what am I doing to all those people? I killed them, Steve. And if I forget them, that’s like murdering them again. They say I’m not the Winter Soldier any more, that I’m all better… but that doesn’t undo what I did.”

“It wasn’t your fault. HYDRA did it, not you.”

“That doesn’t matter. When I killed Howard Stark, he didn’t see HYDRA walk up to his crashed car and murder him. He saw me. My face was the last thing he saw on this earth, Steve. It was the last thing that a lotta people saw. That’s not something that I should be able to live with.” 

“Bucky, you weren’t in control of your actions. You were the victim, not the perpetrator.”

“Maybe I was both,” Bucky said sadly. 

“I still have nightmares about the train,” Steve confessed. He felt embarrassed to admit it, but the words had come out of his mouth without his even thinking about them. 

Bucky simply looked at him. 

“Over and over again, Buck. I try to reach you over and over and over and you always fall. And every time I think if I’d reached a little farther, if I’d just done a little better… I imagine the life you could’ve had. A wife and kids and a picket fence. If I’d been just a little bit better, a little bit stronger, then I could’ve saved you. But I wasn’t. And I couldn’t. And all that life you could’ve had… it never got to be.” Steve felt himself choking up. He tried to steady his breathing, focus on flying and not on his emotions.

“Steve…” Bucky hesitated. “What if I never wanted that?”

“Never wanted what?”

“That life you imagined I could have. I mean… If I could go back, redo everything, I would die in my fall, and never have Zola find me in the snow. Never be the Winter Soldier. But I don’t know that I ever wanted ‘a wife and kids and a picket fence.’”

“I guess you never could settle for just one girl. You had a new date every time, I remember. Usually two, one for me and one for you…” 

“I was pretty good with finding dates, I guess. But it was always just a game.”

“What do you mean, Bucky?”

“I mean…” Bucky paused, considering his words. “There were lots of dames back then, and they all wanted a cocky young fella, or a boy in uniform, but I guess it just never meant a whole lot to me. Whether they liked me or not, you know. Because it didn’t really matter. I was going to Europe whether a girl wrote me letters or not, and I couldn’t change that. All I worried about was whether or not you’d be okay when I left.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. He moved his mouth a bit, but no words came out. 

“It’s hard to dream about the future when the only thing you care about looks to be in your past,” Bucky continued. “So I just tried to keep living day by day. When we got captured, I figured it was all over. I decided that I was gonna die on Zola’s operating table. But when I heard your voice calling out… Well, I barely believed it. I figured I could jump through any flames for you, since I’d already decided I was as good as dead. I followed you through Europe, you and the Howling Commandos, since you brought me back from the dead, and since the Steve I knew, the Steve inside the skinny little guy who always got his ass kicked in alleyways… since that Steve finally realized what he was. You’re my hero, Steve. Always were. Always will be. All I wanted from the future was to be someone you could be proud of. Zola… he stole that from me.”

The lump that had been slowly forming in Steve’s throat grew. “No, he didn’t,” said Steve. “Bucky, you’re still the bravest and best person I know.”

“Have you asked Tony if he agrees with that?”

Steve gulped. He hadn’t wanted to talk about this. Not now. “Bucky, if anything that happened was your choice, it’d be different. But it wasn’t. You can’t keep blaming yourself for what HYDRA did.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have been stronger.”

“They brainwashed you. And your mind fought back, you know. Why did they keep putting you on ice over and over, and wiping your mind over and over, if you weren’t resisting? You were up against impossible odds, Buck. And somehow, you beat them in the end. You escaped. They didn’t win.” 

“Most victories don’t have quite as high a body count.”

Steve flew in silence, chewing his lip. He knew he should say something, but he was at a loss for words. 

“Steve…” Bucky said after a few tensely silent minutes. “I just don’t understand why. Why you’ve gone to all this trouble for me. Maybe back in the day I was your best friend, but that man,” Bucky choked up, then continued, fighting to get the words out, “I think about it a lot, and that man… I think he died when he fell off the train.” 

“That’s not true, Buck. And I’m going to prove it to you. I swear.”

* * *

After the long flight home to the Avengers base, Steve drove them back to his apartment. He hoped that Bucky would like it, and that he’d feel safe enough. Steve kept his place neat, but he wasn’t much for decorating. He also didn’t need a lot of space for himself, but with two people, his one-bedroom apartment was probably going to feel a little crowded. Feeling a bit bashful, he showed Bucky around. He only had four rooms – a living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom – so it didn’t take long. 

“Sorry it’s nothing much to look at,” Steve apologized.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Have you forgotten my place in Bucharest? This is practically a palace.”

Steve felt even more embarrassed. Here he’d been, telling Bucky how self-conscious he was about his home, when he was talking to someone who’d been living on the run, spending his nights in places with papered-over windows to avoid drawing attention. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be. I just might be a bit jumpy about having open windows.”

“I’ll keep the blinds closed, okay?”

“Thanks,” said Bucky, sounding relieved. 

“Are you hungry, Buck? I’m starving, personally. I thought I might order us a pizza.” Steve gave a noncommittal shrug. He didn’t want to pressure Bucky into anything, but he figured they should probably eat.

“Okay.”

“Do you feel okay with me getting delivery?” Bucky got a slightly panicked look in his eyes, so Steve added, “They’ll just come to the door of the building. Nobody will see you. And anyway, nobody’s looking for you. You’re safe now.”

Bucky nodded approvingly. Steve called in an order for pizza, sent Natasha a quick text to let her know he’d made it home safely, and set to work on putting clean sheets on his bed for Bucky. Soon, his phone rang (the pizza delivery driver) and he went downstairs, paid for the pizza, and brought it back up so they could eat. 

The two of them sat across from each other at Steve’s tiny dining room table (which was crammed into a corner of his modestly sized kitchen), eating pizza in silence. The sun struggled to cut through the closed mini-blinds covering the kitchen window. The light fell onto Bucky’s face in thin strips. Steve paused, studying Bucky as he ate. He remembered how, back in Brooklyn, they’d shared so many meals together at the Barnes family table. Then, Bucky had been a young man – a boy, really – with a clean-shaven face, tidily combed hair, and a self-assuredness that made him magnetic. Now, he looked only a few years older in physical age, but like a different man altogether. His hair fell loosely around his face, stubble framed his jaw and mouth, and his posture and eyes suggested a man who didn’t trust himself, let alone the world. Back then, Steve had often wondered why Bucky even wanted him around. He wasn’t a guy that other people typically wanted to associate with. He was scrawny, he was weak, he was sickly, and he was awkward to boot. Bucky hadn’t been any of those things. In fact, Bucky was seemingly cut from the same cloth as those big, strong, cocky boys who used to bully him relentlessly. Yet for some reason, he’d been Steve’s best friend, and Steve had been his. And somehow, here they were decades later, sitting across from a table again. 

Steve recalled what T’Challa had said. _That might be what you could call fate, or destiny_. He felt a sudden longing to pull out paper and pencil and draw a portrait of Bucky, even though it had been months since he’d last sketched anything. He’d drawn Bucky so many times back when they were kids. He knew precisely how to sketch the angles of his jaw, the dip between his eyebrows his nose, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. But he realized he didn’t know how to draw him now. How would he pencil in the strands of hair that seemed to constantly fall onto his face? How would he shade in the stubble that dusted his familiar features? And how would he ever capture the way that Bucky’s eyes seemed weighted with an inexpressible anguish? 

Despite Steve’s intense study of his face, Bucky seemed lost in the pizza. This was probably for the best. Steve didn’t want to do anything to make Bucky feel uncomfortable. He clearly felt out of his element already. 

The two of them easily finished off the pizza, and then took turns using the shower. Steve wished Bucky a good night, and took up his place on the couch, leaving Bucky to sleep in his bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve jolted awake in the wee hours of the morning to a horrible, wrenching noise. Disoriented from sleep, his mind briefly concluded that he was back in the woods of Europe, and this wailing was the sound of wolves crying out through the snow. But an instant later, he flew off the couch, realizing that Bucky was the source of the agonizing scream. He rushed to his bedroom and burst in. He couldn’t make out much in the darkness, but he could see from the light seeping in through the shuttered blinds that Bucky was sitting on the bed, curled into a ball, and trembling uncontrollably. 

“Bucky! Bucky, are you okay?” Steve shouted dumbly, knowing the answer before the question ever left his mouth. 

Bucky didn’t answer with anything even approximating words, drawing in a shuddering breath and letting out a wail into his hands that sent shivers up Steve’s spine. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Steve repeated helplessly. He fell to his knees in front of the bed, putting his hands on Bucky’s arms. In a glinting flash, Bucky’s metal arm flew out, knocking Steve back across the room. 

His eyes still shut, Bucky began to speak. “No,” he sobbed. “I don’t wanna go back! I don’t wanna go back I don’twannagobackIdon’twannagobackIdon’twannagoback…” He trailed off into an unintelligible moan of fear. 

“Bucky!” Steve yelled. “It’s me! I’m not HYDRA! I’m Steve Rogers!” 

“I don’t wanna kill them! I can see all their faces! Why are you making me kill them? _Why am I killing them?_ ”

“Wake up, Bucky,” Steve begged. 

“That man knew me. He saw me and he said a name. It was _my_ name. I was… I was Barnes. He knew me and _you made me kill him!_ You sick fucking monsters, you made me _kill_ him and his wife…” Bucky broke down into heaving sobs.

Steve, feeling increasingly panicked, shouted, “ _Bucky!_ ”

Bucky gasped, his eyes flying open, and scrambled backward to wedge himself against the wall. 

“Buck,” Steve sighed, relieved.

“Steve,” Bucky replied. “I… my nightmares. I’m sorry. This is why they always kept me in the secure room in Wakanda. I’m not so good at sleeping any more. Oh my God, did I hurt you, Steve?”

“No, I’m perfectly okay,” Steve’s jaw ached a bit where metal knuckles had slammed into him, but it wasn’t anything serious. With his accelerated healing, it wouldn’t even leave a bruise come morning. “Everything is okay, Buck. I’m here.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t go.”

“I’m right here.” Bucky abruptly grabbed Steve, pulling him into his arms. Steve felt the strength of his grasp, the cold touch of his metal arm through his thin t-shirt, and the tremble of dissipating terror quivering through his muscles. “Would you like me to sleep here with you tonight, Buck? So you won’t have to be alone?” Steve felt Bucky nod, his chin rubbing stubble against his shoulder. Slowly, Steve crawled into bed alongside Bucky. Bucky rolled to face the wall. As he began to drift off, Steve realized that Bucky was still shivering. He draped his arm protectively across his best friend. Bucky sighed gratefully and leaned into Steve’s embrace, resting the soles of his feet against Steve’s shins. Steve pulled him closer, hoping his warmth could still Bucky’s trembling. Gradually, they both came to lie still in Steve’s bed. Bucky’s feet were a bit cold, but Steve didn’t mind.

* * *

The next morning, Steve awoke to sunlight straining through the blinds. Bucky was still fast asleep, his breath soft and steady. With his arm still wrapped around his best friend, Steve felt suddenly shy and embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t explain. Slowly, so as not to disturb Bucky, he slid his arm free of their embrace. Just as he was about to sit up and leave the bed, Bucky stirred, curling himself closer to Steve. Instead of getting up and returning to the couch, Steve gently sighed and put his arm back over Bucky. He could smell Bucky’s hair, slightly sour from the cold sweat of his nightmare, but with a subtly powder-sweet scent beneath. It felt odd to be so large in bed next to Bucky. Steve had grown accustomed to his post-serum body in other regards, but this experience – sharing a bed with his best friend – was unfamiliar. He had always been the one getting held, and never the one holding. His lungs had usually felt on the verge of wheezing their last breath, and his shivers had been concerning to Bucky, not vice versa. He wondered how many times Bucky had woken up before him. He wondered if he’d felt the same inexplicable embarrassment.

An hour or so later, Bucky began to stir. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“It’s okay, Buck.”

“Every _fucking_ night…” Bucky trailed off.

Steve bit his tongue. It wasn’t a good time to chastise Bucky’s tendency to toss out expletives. “I get it. I have nightmares, too.”

“Not like this, I hope. They feel so real. Like I’m right back in that chair, surrounded by those men in their white coats. I can _smell_ it, Steve. That room – it smells like hot metal and piss. Whenever they wiped my mind, I couldn’t hold it in. And that horrible greenish light they’d shine on me… it made my head throb. I can see all those men, my handlers… If I could, I’d smash in all their faces. What they made me… it wasn’t human. Everything about me that was _me_ , it got replaced with this _rage_ , this blind, red rage, pulling me like a string to do those things. 

“The Starks – God, I wish I could forget – the Starks, the looks on their faces. I’m not sure which was worse: his look of confusion, the way he said my name, or her terror. In that moment the only thing I felt was that rage, that fucking string pulling me along. But after – well, when I started crying during my mission briefing, they strapped me right back in that chair and wiped me again. 

“But what they didn’t know was I never forgot, not really. I forgot who I was, I forgot how to feel, but they always came back. Over and over, those people’s final moments, and how they looked at me as I killed them.”

“It wasn’t you, Buck. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know it wasn’t my choice. But I did it. I told you before and I’m telling you again now. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t my fault. I still fucking did it.” Bucky looked to be on the verge of tears.

Steve sighed and held Bucky closer. It occurred to him that it was odd for the two of them to stay together in bed like this for so long – back in Brooklyn, Bucky had always left the bed the second Steve woke up, usually to make them breakfast. But Bucky needed him, and somehow, holding him close felt… right. “Bucky, you’re right. You did do it. But it wasn’t your fault. You’re a good person. You’re the best person I know. And I know that you’ll never be the same as you were before you fell, but you’re still James Buchanan Barnes, the guy who patched me up after all those fights, and who gave me a place to stay when my ma died, and who had my back during the war. And pal, I’ll do everything I can to help you realize that.” 

Bucky rolled over and buried his face in Steve’s broad chest, his shoulders shaking softly. Steve wrapped him in his arms, letting him cry. He thought back to Brooklyn. Growing up together, Steve had only seen Bucky cry twice. The first time had been at Steve’s ma’s funeral. The second time was when he’d told Steve that he’d just got his draft card, that he was shipping off to Europe. It wasn’t that Bucky was unemotional, it was just that he’d usually taken the hardships of life with an optimistic smile and a cocky sense of self-assurance. Back then, Bucky had never encountered a situation he couldn’t either charm or punch his way out of. Even after being a POW, he’d still approached life with the same chin-up attitude, even though his smile lost a bit of its easiness, and his mouth seemed set into a harder line. The torture in the camp had hardened him, but even Zola’s initial experiments on him had been unable to break his spirit.

Steve held him close, wondering if he would ever see that version of his best friend again. He knew it was probably too late for that, but he hoped that someday he’d see that easy grin spread across Bucky’s face again, without the weight of sadness smoothing those crinkles around his eyes. 

Without thinking about it, Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, gently combing out the tangles. Bucky sighed, his breathing slowly steadying itself. They lay together like that for a bit until Bucky sat up, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Steve’s shirt was damp where his face had pressed against him. “Sorry,” said Bucky.

“Don’t be.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be the same, but I’ll do my best to make some kinda peace with my past. I promise. I don’t wanna let you down, Stevie.”

“You never have, Buck. And you never will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty dark chapter, I know, but the next one'll be a bit fluffier. At least Bucky's hair smells nice!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you forget about me." - Simple Minds

That day, Steve contacted Fury to let him know that Bucky would need a thoroughly vetted psychologist – he was understandably wary of seeing mental health practitioners after Zemo’s impersonation of one – and asked Bucky if he’d be okay with Natasha coming over for takeout and a movie. Bucky agreed to both the psychologist and the dinner plans, albeit a bit reluctantly, so Steve arranged for both. 

That night, Natasha showed up at the apartment with two bags laden with Thai food. “I got it from that place you like. And good to see you, Bucky.”

Bucky looked shy and a bit embarrassed. “Good to see you too,” he said.

“Don’t worry about our, ah, _complicated_ history. I helped you steal that Quinjet, so obviously I’m over it,” said Natasha.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., by the way. I was… disoriented. They’d just wiped my mind before the mission. I’m – I was always real fuzzy when they did that.”

“You don’t say,” Natasha said. “I just figured you might remember me.”

“Do you two… know each other from somewhere else?” asked Steve, perplexed.

“Well, obviously there’s the fact that he’s shot me. _Twice_.” Bucky looked down, wincing. “But back in the Red Room…” Natasha said. Steve nodded. Nat didn’t talk about it much, but when she leaked all the files, he’d read a bit about her past. It wasn’t a nice place, the Red Room. “Well, we met there. Bucky actually trained me a bit in hand-to-hand combat, believe it or not.”

Steve knit his eyebrows together. He was surprised, but it all made sense. The Winter Soldier fought a bit like Bucky had back in the day, with a brawler’s feral relentlessness. But there were times when his body twisted with almost balletic grace and power. Natasha had that same dancer’s elegance. “Huh,” was all he said.

Bucky gave a half-smile. “She was one of my best students. And, uh… Sorry about shooting you. Twice.”

“Worse things have happened to me. Just please don’t do it again, okay?” she said.

“I don’t plan on it,” said Bucky. He still looked pained, but Natasha seemed to have put him slightly more at ease.

“Well, boys, shall we dig in to some dinner? Oh, and I brought one of my favorite movies from the 1980s. Steve, remember how you said you always feel like you know the least about that era of pop culture? Well, I thought we could watch _The Breakfast Club_. It’s pretty great. It’s about teenagers in detention.”

“Why are they in detention?” asked Steve.

“Well, you’ll just have to watch and see! Oh, and Steve, this box,” she said, pointing at one of the takeout containers, “is their special of the night. Mango stir fry!”

“Ooooh,” said Steve, “You know me too well.”

Steve and Bucky both nodded and settled onto the couch, digging into the boxes of noodles and stir-fries, steaming with fragrant and tangy spice. Bucky sat perched on the corner of the couch, not quite looking like he could let his guard down. Steve took the middle, and Nat claimed the other side. The three of them ate and watched the movie. Bucky raised his eyebrows and sent Nat and Steve a pointed look during the opening and ending credits as he heard the lyrics of the soundtrack, and Nat gave him a subtle smirk. “The lyrics are coincidence, I swear,” she said, with a giggle that suggested that she might not be telling the whole truth. 

After the movie was over, Natasha asked, “So what did you boys think?”

“It was pretty cute,” said Steve.

Bucky nodded in half-reluctant agreement. 

“You’re just jealous of Bender’s hair,” she teased. 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“We’ll watch more John Hughes movies sometime, okay? I should probably get home. I’ve got an early morning ahead of me. Steve, will you walk me to my car?” Steve knew that this was Nat-speak for _I want to talk to you alone_ , and nodded. “So how’s your old pal doing, really?” she asked as they walked down the stairs. 

“Not great. Better. But he’s flighty. You can see that for yourself; it’s obvious.” Natasha nodded. 

“Is he gonna see someone about it? Fury has some good connections.”

“Yeah. He starts tomorrow. You think it’ll make a difference?”

“I remember it did for me, back in the day. I was pretty… rough after I defected. But they gave me a lot of tools to cope. It never totally goes away. I think I’ll always feel like a monster, deep down. But now I feel like a monster who can do some good for the world. Bucky… he’s tough. He’s been through hell, and it shows, but he survived. Most people probably wouldn’t, if they’d been through what he has.”

Steve nodded. “I believe in him. I always have. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still scared for him.”

“Well, if you ever want him to have someone to talk to who’s been through some of the same stuff, I’m happy to. And I’ve picked up some intel on a powered person who did some pretty wild mind-control in New York, and allegedly, one of his victims was powered herself. Maybe we could start a support group,” she said with a wry chuckle. 

“Who knows, it might help,” Steve shrugged. 

“Keep me posted on how he’s doing. We have an… interesting history, but based on what you’ve told me, he’s someone worth fighting for.”

“Will do,” said Steve. They hugged at Natasha’s car and Steve went back up to his apartment. Bucky was quietly tidying up the mess of empty takeout boxes on the coffee table, putting them into the garbage. “Thanks,” said Steve.

“Least I can do,” said Bucky. 

“How ya feeling, Buck?”

“Okay. Tired.” 

“Want me to get the bed ready for you? I’ll get myself set up on the couch.” 

Bucky chewed his lip. Steve wondered what he’d said wrong. After a minute of silence, Bucky blurted out, “Please don’t sleep on the couch.” He paused again, looking even more nervous than usual. “I… I think I sleep better with you. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, Buck. I’ll gladly share the bed with you, okay? Whatever helps you sleep well. That’s all that matters.” Steve felt his heart flutter as he spoke. Some part of him, deep down, knew that they would probably end up in the same bed. And some part of him was strangely – relieved? was that the right word for what he was feeling? – about it. 

That night, Steve lay awake for hours. It took Bucky a long time to fall asleep. And once he did, he quickly fell into restless dreams. He whimpered, muttering, “No, no, no…” until Steve wrapped his arms around him and he settled into soft snoring. Steve held him even once he seemed to relax. Steve’s face rested a few inches from Bucky’s head, and the smell of his hair, somewhere between salty and sweetly fresh, filled his nose. Worried that this strange moment of intimacy was unwanted, Steve tried to roll away, but as soon as he stirred, Bucky’s metal hand gently – surprisingly gently – grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. Steve sighed, accepting that he was probably going to be here all night, but he felt a warmth in his chest at the realization. It had been so many years ago, but Steve could remember how back when they’d shared a flat, there had been a strange little corner of his heart that had felt oddly happy when he got sick, as he so often did, and Bucky had insisted that they share a bed. He’d ignored that feeling, pushed it away, tried to imagine how it might feel to sleep next to Peggy once he met her. ( _He imagined it probably would’ve felt pretty nice. Honestly, he’d thought about a lot, for a time._ ) 

And yet here he was, in a new millennium he had no God-given right to be in. And here he was, back in a bed with Bucky Barnes, who he had back, somehow, across time and space and endless horrors. And T’Challa’s words couldn’t stop echoing in his mind, _that might be what you could call fate, or destiny_ , and a part of Steve that he’d kept hidden, even from himself, for nearly a century, was melting out of the ice. 

As Steve drifted off into sleep, Bucky’s hair spilling into his face, he smiled a little to himself. _Fate, or destiny_ , he thought, as he slipped into dreams of Brooklyn, and a boy with a cocky grin and kind eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I hadn't thought about the potential for Bucky and Jessica Jones to swap mind-control survivor stories until I started writing this chapter, but now I really wanna see it!


	8. Chapter 8

**ONE MONTH LATER**

Steve and Bucky had settled into a routine of sorts. Each weekday, Bucky went to the psychologist Fury had arranged for, and met with them for two hours. Steve hadn’t the faintest idea what went on there, but it seemed to be helping, a bit. The nightmares continued, and Bucky was still a bit paranoid in public places, but he seemed more relaxed at home. Sometimes, he even flashed the toothy grin that Steve remembered. Each evening they ate dinner together, and each night they shared the same bed. Steve wasn’t quite sure if they slept curled together out of necessity for Bucky’s mental health or out of habit, but he didn’t ask. He could barely remember how he ever slept without Bucky, without the warmth of his lithe yet solid body, the smell of his hair, or the soft sound of his breath smoothing over the noises of the city. 

That night, a night like so many others they’d now shared, began with them sharing dinner (homemade grilled cheese, one of Bucky’s culinary specialties since he was old enough to cook), taking turns in the shower, and finally climbing into bed. The two of them drifted off to sleep quickly enough. In Steve’s dream, he was back in Brooklyn, before the serum. They were at Coney Island, he and Bucky, and Bucky was playing some stupid carnival game. “You know those are rigged,” said Steve, but Bucky kept playing, probably trying to impress some girls. Finally, after blowing half his money for the day, he won a teddy bear, but instead of giving it to the girl who was making eyes at him (all the girls were, Steve realized), he gave it to Steve. As Bucky leaned in towards him, Steve – 

Woke with a start to an agonized cry. Bucky’s metal fist flew out, leaving a hole in the drywall. Steve scrambled up, jumping on top of Bucky to restrain him. Bucky’s head whipped across like the pillow as if he’d been slapped. “I knew him,” he moaned. “But I knew him.” 

Steve shook his shoulders, and his eyes flew open. He gasped, looking around the room with wild pain and terror in his eyes, like a horse with a broken leg. “Bucky! It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Steve murmured, still straddling him, but loosening his grip on his shoulders. 

“My dream – it was about the day I remembered you,” Bucky whispered, tears welling in his eyes, glistening in the dark. “Forgot about it. ‘Cause they wiped me right after. But I just remembered. I knew that I knew you, Stevie. I could remember your face… the train… falling… but I couldn’t remember your name. Who you were. What you _meant_ to me—” Bucky began to sob, his whole body shaking. “Dammit, Steve. You never even knew what you meant to me. That I could ever forget – it kills me.”

“Buck. I know. I always knew. You’re my best friend. I never forgot that. Ever.”

“Ha,” Bucky scoffed through his tears. “You still don’t fucking know, do you?”

“I know this isn’t the time, but _language_. What don’t I know, Buck?”

“This whole time, ever since we were… oh, about fifteen, sixteen… all I wanted was me and you. Me and you, Stevie, but how could you know that? Two fellas, back in the day? No way. No way in hell. Shit, I knew a few guys who did, but I could never tell you. I had to keep you safe, Stevie. Even if my wildest dreams were true and you felt the same… I didn’t want to put you in danger. You were already out looking for fights all the time anyway, you dummy, last thing I wanna do is have some macho fellas wanting to kick your ass ‘cause you’re queer as well as a skinny little punk…” Bucky trailed off, avoiding Steve’s eyes. 

Steve could never explain what exactly happened in the next few moments, as he seemed to have surrendered his body to forces beyond explanation, far beyond his control. But what he did know, moments later, was that he was kissing _Bucky_ , my God, he was actually kissing Bucky, and somehow, across time and space and endless horrors, Bucky was kissing _him_ , and his mouth was soft and warm and parted gently, letting Steve in, and his stubble was rubbing Steve’s face until it tingled, and his hands were pulling Steve closer, caressing his body with the fierce desperation of someone who had waited for the better part of a century for this moment. 

They kissed passionately, breathlessly, Bucky’s hands clawing Steve’s shirt up to run up and down the length of his back, the temperature contrast between his warm, human hand and his cold, metal hand sending sparks up Steve’s spine. Their lips parted, and Bucky stirred under Steve, slowly rolled the two of them to reverse their positions on the bed. Steve looked up at Bucky, who was reaching for the lamp on the bedside table. “I wanna look at you,” Bucky murmured. The light clicked on, and Steve saw the look on Bucky’s face that he’d ( _secretly, deep down, hidden even from himself_ ) wanted for so long – a glow in his expressive blue eyes that fell somewhere between adoration and hunger. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long.” 

“Even back when I was a skinny little punk?” 

“Always, Stevie. You’ve always been beautiful to me. But now you’re sturdy enough for all the things I’ve always wanted to do to you.” Bucky cocked one eyebrow, and Steve was overcome with an aching desire to know _exactly_ what it was that Bucky had always wanted to do to him. “That is, if you wanna do it with me,” Bucky added, looking down at Steve with a suddenly serious expression. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, I wanna do absolutely everything with you,” Steve breathed, pulling Bucky down onto him for another passionate kiss. Bucky pulled his mouth away from Steve’s, and began to make his way down Steve’s neck, planting delicate little kisses from just behind his ear to his collarbone. His hands slowly raised Steve’s shirt up his torso, until he finally pulled it over his head, leaving Steve’s chest bare in the lamplight. Steve returned the favor, albeit less elegantly, scrambling to pull off Bucky’s shirt as if he was racing to make up for decades of lost time. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. I guess I… I always sort of knew, deep down, but I couldn’t face it just yet. Back in the day, like you said, two fellas… I think I could’ve been pretty happy with Peggy, but some hidden part of me would always have wondered about… us.”

“S’okay,” Bucky whispered into his ear, his breath sending little shivers down Steve’s neck. “We just gotta make up for lost time, huh pal?”

“We sure do.”

“And I’m sorry, too, Steve. Sorry I never warmed up to her. Peggy, I mean. She was a helluva gal, you know? And I saw how you looked at her. I was jealous. Wanted you to look at _me_ like that. I figured it was better that way, though. You and Peggy, getting to do all the things couples are supposed to do together. I didn’t want you to have to live in secret, Stevie. You were always meant to live in the light. Captain America needed a pretty little spitfire of a wife – not a fairy like me.” Bucky looked wounded at his own words. 

Steve ran his fingers tenderly down Bucky’s chest. “Buck – America is different now. And Captain America can be, too. I’m not saying nobody takes issue with it anymore, but since when have I been concerned with the opinions of bigots?” 

Bucky snorted, and planted a kiss on Steve’s forehead. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“You’ve been telling me that since FDR was President, pal. Now, why don’t you show me all that stuff you’ve always wanted to do to me.” Bucky cocked his eyebrows with a devilish grin, and Steve felt a hot glow of anticipation flooding his entire body. Steve raised his eyebrows in return. “We don’t have all century, you know,” he said, smirking up at Bucky. In response, Bucky leaned down, tracing his lips agonizingly slowly from Steve’s jaw down to his nipple. He took it in his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. Steve gasped, arching his back. Bucky continued his journey down Steve’s body, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses from his chest down his belly. Steve lay rigid, aching with desire as Bucky worked his way down to his navel, and lower still. He looked down as Bucky’s lips paused just above the waistband of his pajama pants, feeling momentarily self-conscious about the erection straining against the flannel fabric. But Bucky slowly lifted the waistband from his hips and pulled down his pants and boxers in one swift motion, and all Steve could do was gasp as Bucky ran his tongue from the base of his cock up to the tip, never breaking eye contact. “Holy…” gasped Steve, his eyes rolling back in his head. Bucky just grinned slyly before wrapping his warm, flesh-and-blood hand around the base as his mouth began to bob up and down. Steve let out a wordless moan of pleasure, wrapping his hands in Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky continued until Steve felt himself edging towards climax. Gently, he pulled Bucky’s hair. Bucky lifted his head, his lips shimmering with spit. “Too good. Gonna come,” Steve murmured, reaching for Bucky’s arms and pulling him up to his face. He felt Bucky’s own cock, hard and warm, pressed against his stomach. “Wanna do it to you.” Steve scrambled out from under Bucky and off the bed, kneeling on the floor. Bucky sat up, perching his hips on the edge of the bed. Steve arranged himself between Bucky’s legs, and gently removed his pajama pants. He paused for a moment, taking in the aching pleasure of anticipation. Bucky’s cock was so hard it was twitching slightly, straining up towards his belly through his tight red boxer briefs. 

“We don’t have all century,” Bucky echoed back at Steve, his eyes glazed with desire. Steve grinned, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s cock through his underwear. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, and he let out a moan that sounded vaguely profane. Steve decided to let this one slide. Slowly, Steve lifted the waistband of Bucky’s underwear, pulled them down, and threw them across the room. Naked, Bucky was every bit as beautiful as Steve had imagined. He was all firm muscles and dark hair, and his cock was… well, it was clear to Steve why Bucky had always walked with a swagger. Steve eagerly took it in his mouth, his head bobbing up and down as Bucky wound his fingers into Steve’s short hair, moaning, “Stevie, God, Steve, oh my God…” 

Just as Bucky’s breath began to grow shakier and shakier, Steve lifted his mouth. Bucky looked down at him, his eyes glazed with a fog of desire and pleasure. Roughly, he pulled Steve up, threw him onto the bed. “There’s more I wanna do to you, Stevie. If you want it.” 

“I want it.”

“Need lube, though.”

“Got Vaseline in my bathroom cabinet.” 

Bucky leapt up, practically ran to the bathroom, and came back, one hand sliding up and down his Vaseline-slick cock, the other holding the little jar of petroleum jelly. Steve felt a twinge of nervousness – he’d never done anything like this before. He was still a virgin, actually ( _he wondered how many other living WWII veterans were still virgins… he might be the only one_ ). Bucky wasn’t small – far from it – and he wondered how bad it would hurt. 

Bucky sensed his anxiety, and sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around his cock. “Don’t worry, Stevie. The guys I knew back in the day… well, they taught me a few things.” The idea of someone else teaching Bucky “a few things” made Steve’s stomach clench, but he supposed that expecting someone to wait a literal lifetime for him was unreasonable. Bucky dipped his fingers into the Vaseline and slowly eased his hand between Steve’s legs. Steve’s body acquiesced, his legs spreading wider. Bucky worked two fingers in little circles, slowly easing into Steve. Steve gasped as he felt the first knuckles of Bucky’s fingers slip in. “Shh. Breathe,” Bucky commanded. Steve obeyed. He felt his body loosen, Bucky’s fingers easing in deeper, until they were fully inside him. Steve no longer felt nervousness, just an ache to feel more of Bucky, to share in the intimacy of unknown pleasures. 

“I’m ready. Please,” Steve begged. 

Bucky smirked. “Yes sir, Cap,” he said, climbing on top of Steve and pushing on his knees, rocking his hips open. 

“Sargent Barnes, that’s an order,” Steve whispered. Bucky laughed, and holding the base of his cock, began to gently guide it into Steve. Again, Steve gasped as Bucky entered him, but he remembered to breathe into it, and slowly, with cautious thrusts, Bucky entered Steve, deeper and deeper with each push. Steve moaned. There was friction at first, but the pain was dissipating as he forced his body to relax, to loosen. His mind could barely wrap around it all. Bucky was the object of his furtively suppressed desires ( _how many times had he masturbated in his youth and found himself imagining a moment much like this, and then guiltily, hastily forced his mind to other, less forbidden fantasies?_ ). Bucky was the man he’d risked everything for, even though he lacked a name for the feelings that drove him to do so without an instant of hesitation. Bucky was the only human currently living who knew Steve as he had been, sickly and weak, and had believed in him even then. And somehow, impossibly, the two of them were on Steve’s bed, stark naked, and Bucky was looking down adoringly at Steve as he thrust into him. The feeling of Bucky inside him was achingly tight, but in spite of, or maybe because of, the sensation, Steve wanted more. Craved more. He spread his legs wider, opening himself to Bucky even further. Responding to his wordless demand for more, Bucky thrust deeper still, until he had given Steve as much as he had to give.

As he looked up into Bucky’s eyes, the sensations of their love began to fully turn into pleasure, building into the steady thrum of peaking arousal. He moaned out, “Oh, Buck…” as he bit his lip. Bucky responded by kissing Steve on the mouth, then the cheek, then his ear, and then down his neck. His hair spilled over Steve’s face, and he breathed in the scent of it, unashamed this time. Stubble tickled his neck, sending sparks through his body. 

Their breathing fell into a panting, synchronized rhythm, and Bucky leaned back up over Steve, looking down at him again, his eyes shining. “God, Stevie. I wanted you for so long… so long.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner, oh, oh…” Steve trailed off, losing control of his words, giving in to the waves of ecstasy that crashed down on him. Then, their pleasure reached an apex, and his whole body shuddered with fireworks as he spurted onto both their bellies. Bucky gasped and buried his face in Steve’s neck as he, too, gave his final, shaky thrusts, letting out little groans of pleasure that somehow made Steve weaker in the knees than he already was. 

As Steve wrapped his arms tight around Bucky, both of them breathless and flushed, he thought to himself, _so this is what it feels like to be happy_. Bucky sighed contentedly, resting his head against Steve’s chest, unperturbed by the mess they’d made. Their lives and their histories were tangled and broken, but in this moment, they felt whole together. As Steve leaned down to kiss the top of Bucky’s head, he felt a warm glow of hope settle over him. Finally, the pieces of his life were clicking into place.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! 
> 
> This second story arc of Longing/Homecoming will alternate chapters between Steve and Bucky, as they'll be apart for some of it. 
> 
> But never fear -- they'll find a way back into each other's arms before long. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

**STEVE**

“ _What?_ ” Steve hissed into the phone, reaching for something, anything, to lean on. 

“I told you, Rogers. They made a mistake, and they lost him.” Fury’s voice crackled over his cell phone. 

“How… How did they _lose him?_ ” Steve tried to ask calmly, but the panic in his chest made his voice tremble. 

“According to what they told me, he mentioned fears that his trigger phrase might still work. Apparently, he was correct to be concerned. They read it to him, and he royally fucked up the facility and made a rather – ah, dramatic – exit. No casualties, but the property damage is – well, frankly, it’s impressive.” 

“Why wasn’t he in a secure room?!” Steve shaking. This couldn’t be happening. Not after last night. 

“It was secure – until he broke out of it.” 

“Listen. I need to find him. I’m getting Black Widow and Falcon and we’re going to find him if I have to overturn every stone on the Earth to do it. Don’t try to tell me no.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Fury. “Based on what his psychologists said when I briefed them, you might wanna start your search in Europe.”

“Thanks.” Steve hung up. He felt like his stomach had dropped out of his body. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet. He tried to ground himself, hone back in on what to do, what his next steps should be, but all he could think about was how last night everything had seemed perfect, and how this morning it had all been ripped away. He’d promised Bucky on his life that nobody would ever do this to him. Never again. How could this have happened? In Wakanda, they’d desensitized him to his trigger. Had it come back somehow? Or had it been dormant in his psyche the whole time, just waiting for the right moment to ruin things? Whatever the reason, he needed to find him. And he thought it was about time to get a team together. Part of him wanted to go alone, but he knew that he could use some help. It was hard enough to think clearly, let alone go on a manhunt across the globe.

Steve called up Natasha and Sam, and explained to them that the psychologists had accidentally triggered the Winter Soldier and they needed to find Bucky. And that apparently, he was likely somewhere in Europe. He left out the part of the story where the two of them had finally acknowledged their long-suppressed feelings for each other and then Steve had lost his virginity to the man who they currently needed to track down. 

_I never said, “I love you_ ,” Steve thought to himself. He’d never dared to even think those words before last night, but now they ached unsaid in his throat. He loved Bucky Barnes, loved every damn thing about him. Loved the way he’d walked with an easy confidence that always attracted all the girls back in the day. Loved the way he never doubted Steve, even when he was an asthmatic runt with more guts than sense. Loved the way he was always worrying about him, even during the war, when Steve was the sturdiest guy in every fight. Loved the way he always cursed too much. Loved his blue-gray eyes, eyes that had shone on him last night like lighthouses calling a ship to home. Loved the smell of his hair. Loved how he felt in his arms. Loved him, fiercely and intensely, even before he knew how to admit it, how to say it. And now he knew, and he knew how to say it. He knew exactly what he’d say, if he could. _Bucky Barnes, I love you. So much. God, Bucky, I love you so much._

But Bucky was somewhere far, far away, lost and disoriented and angry and afraid. Steve couldn’t fight the tears as they came. He had to get his things packed, get ready for the hunt. Get ready for whatever version of Bucky he might find. All Steve knew for sure was that he was going to find Bucky and get him back. No matter what. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was just sheer dumb luck. But by God, he was going to get him back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely readers! 
> 
> Because I'm working early and probably won't have time to upload the next chapter until evening, and because I've been so mean to you all by separating poor Steve and Bucky (temporarily, I swear! I promise that all this suffering will result in even more love!), I'm uploading two chapters today! One now at midnight my time, and another one in the evening. 
> 
> Also, I apologize for any editing errors in this chapter that you may find. I had an interesting day (a ladder fell on my head in a freak accident at work, and I had to go to urgent care and get checked for a concussion... I'm a tiny bit sore and woozy, but apparently brain-injury-free, yay!), and so my editing may have suffered a bit. 
> 
> Anyway, here's what my scrambled-in-the-noggin comrade Bucky is up to! Much love to you all, and thank you for reading. <3

**BUCKY**

People didn’t realize how easy it could be to sneak around and never get caught – never even arouse suspicion. Usually all it took was a baseball cap and a jacket, maybe some sunglasses, and a man could disappear into a crowd like a raindrop into a lake. Sure, it had gotten a little harder to sneak into airports over the years as security had heightened, but there were ways. And he was an expert in finding ways, because he was ( _who the hell was he?_ )

The flight into Frankfurt was uneventful. He sat in silence, looked out the window, watched clouds pass by, their spun-sugar forms reminding him of something ( _cotton candy… flashing carnival lights… taste of hot dogs slathered in mustard… a blond boy beside him…_ ) he couldn’t place. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t remember how to sleep. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that he needed to run so the men in the white coats couldn’t find him. The men in the white coats were evil. He knew this. It was the one thing he never forgot. The men in the white coats hurt him. They made him forget. They made him do things. Bad things. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he knew he needed to get far away from all the men in all their white coats. He didn’t know why people always associated the color white with purity, with goodness. White was the color of brainwashing concealed as ideology, of torture disguised as surgery, of assassination euphemized as progress. 

Suddenly, the airplane seat felt like the chair the men in the white coats strapped him down to. Nauseated, he unbuckled his seat and clambered over his seatmates, murmuring “sorry,” and hurried to the bathroom. He locked the door and sat on the toilet lid, burying his head in his hands. Deep breaths. It wasn’t real. He needed to ground himself in time and space, remember that he wasn’t “the asset” ( _who the hell was he, though?_ ) He looked around the bathroom, silently naming the objects he saw. Toilet paper. Door latch. Soap dispenser. Paper towels. Sink. Mirror. He looked into the mirror. The man looking back at him was unfamiliar, but he supposed that it must be himself. Dark brown hair falling around the face, stubble overtaking a square jawline, a straight, slightly upturned nose and broad nostrils, blue-gray eyes set under a prominent brow bone, mouth set in a tense line. He looked away. Mirrors were uncomfortable. Too many questions ( _like what the hell did they call him before he was “the asset,” before he was the Winter Soldier?_ )

The turbulence of the plane was making his stomach turn in the tiny closet of a bathroom, so he returned to his seat, mumbled “sorry” again to his seatmates as he stepped over them. When the plane landed, he waited patiently to de-board and disappeared into the crowds of the Frankfort airport like a raindrop settling into a lake. 

* * *

It’s easier to stay hidden if you keep moving. Europe was perfect for that – the EU meant that slipping between countries was as easy as changing shirts. Not that he was bothering to change shirts, mind you, but crossing borders was a priority. Procuring a car was easy enough ( _was there a part of him that hated stealing? He couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter. He needed a car._ ) Spend a night in Munich ( _don’t sleep, though_ ), cross the border to Austria, spend a night in Innsbruck, keep going south into Italy, head east, away from the crowds, cross into Slovenia, spend a few nights in Ljubljana in an abandoned flat, move on to Croatia, find another flat in Zagreb, get paranoid and leave again, find himself in Serbia, a flat in Belgrade, and then keep going east ( _What is to the east? Why is he going east? What happened there? Why can’t he remember?_ ) Cross the border into Romania. ( _What the fuck happened in Bucharest? Why does he have to go to Bucharest?_ ) Find a flat, oddly familiar, major structural damage to the stairwell and bullet holes in the walls. Get scared and leave, find another flat much like it. Settle in there. 

He knew he’d been to Bucharest before. Many of the streets seemed familiar, as if he’d seen them in a dream. Something about the city was oddly comforting to him. The mix of architecture, the elegant old buildings jumbled up with the coldly imposing monuments of the fallen Communist dictator that had torn down whole neighborhoods to assert his aesthetic power. He could relate to a city that had some of its history forcibly erased. Lost in thought as he wandered the streets aimlessly, he touched his left arm, felt the unyielding, smooth metal through his jacket sleeve. ( _What had been torn down in him? What ghosts haunted the structures that the men in the white coats had erected in his mind?_ ) 

It occurred to him that he was hungry. ( _When had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember._ ) He stopped at a little street-corner stand, purchased a pretzel, thanked the server, and promptly devoured it. It was just a simple pretzel, but to his empty belly, it seemed miraculously delicious. The dough was perfectly chewy, practically springing as he bit into it, the poppy seeds it had been dipped in were crunchy little dots of subtly perfect flavor, and the crust was just the right balance of crisp and yielding. He tried to eat it slowly, both to savor it and to avoid arousing any unwanted attention, but despite his best efforts, it was gone in under a minute. 

Feeling marginally less hungry, he decided that it was time to return to his flat. He’d wandered a long way – he’d found himself in the heart of the city, and his flat was in the Militari neighborhood, on the western side of Bucharest – so he hastened his strolling a bit. The walk still took him a couple hours, even at a brisk pace. Finally, he found himself back amongst the uniformly gray blocks of the housing buildings, the irregular windows the only thing distinguishing each one from the last. He found his way back up into the abandoned flat he was calling home ( _did he have a home? He had flown out of D.C., was it there?_ ), and promptly lay down on the dirty mattress he’d pilfered from an alleyway and dragged up to lie on the floor. 

Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was little respite. He remembered things in his dreams, but they were never the things he wanted to remember. Back in the chair, white coats and green light, smell of his own sweat and piss, searing pain. Looking through the sight of a gun, aim at a man in a suit, pull the trigger, watch the death and panic through the sight, feel queasy. Crash a car, kill a couple with his bare hands, man says a name ( _can’t remember what it was_ ), grab a briefcase out of the trunk. Fight a man on a bridge, but can’t picture his face ( _did he know him?_ ) A white room, honeycomb walls and floor and ceiling, someone else was there ( _who?_ ) and he knew he had a name, knew it, but what the hell was it, anyway? 

When he awoke the next morning, sweat had plastered his hair to his face. Sleep was no comfort. But pretzels helped a little. He set out to find one.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter of the day, as promised! 
> 
> In which Steve is kind of a dingus, but only because of true love, so we can't be too hard on him... 
> 
> Or maybe we can. Get it together, Steve! Bucky needs you!

**STEVE**

“After everything you already did, and he’s got you back to playing Where’s Brainwashed Waldo,” Sam said, shaking his head. 

“It’s not his fault,” Steve said, sounding more defensive than he meant to. Sam was just trying to keep the mood light, he knew. But frankly, he wasn’t in a particularly light mood. 

“Obviously not,” added Natasha as she piloted the Quinjet. “Don’t worry, Steve. We’ll find him.”

Steve was leaning over a laptop, surveying security footage from Dulles International Airport. “There,” he said, pausing the video. “I think I found him.” A man in a baseball cap with shoulder-length dark hair, wearing a backpack. The image was a bit grainy and only showed him from behind, but it was almost certainly Bucky. “Looks like he was heading to Gate A17. And at the time of the video, that would’ve been a flight to…” He reviewed the arrival and departure information. “Moscow. Apparently he was heading to Moscow. Got that, Nat?” 

“Roger that, Rogers.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You never get sick of saying that, do you?” he asked. 

“Never,” she replied with a smirk. 

“I wonder why he picked Moscow?” Steve mused.

“Based on my own experience, it’s an easy place to disappear,” said Natasha. “Plus, he’s pretty familiar with Russian culture, and fluent in the language. It wouldn’t be hard for him to avoid attracting attention.”

“Makes sense,” said Steve. 

“Did Fury tell you why those so-called ‘top psychologists’ thought it was a smart idea to read him his trigger phrase?” asked Sam. 

“Apparently he talked a lot about how he was worried he was still susceptible to it. Guess they wanted to prove that he was wrong,” said Steve. 

“Whoops,” said Sam. 

“Yeah,” agreed Steve. “I’d be even angrier, but knowing the tongue-lashing Fury’s bound to give them… Well, I don’t envy them.” 

“Hooo boy, neither do I,” said Sam. Natasha nodded in agreement. “Do you think he’s gone full Winter Soldier?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” said Steve. “I doubt it. Back when Zemo triggered him when he was in custody… He wasn’t himself, and I’ll admit that he was a little violent,” Natasha gave him a pointed look, “Okay, pretty violent. But he seemed more like a scared, trapped animal than a cold-blooded assassin. I just… I hope nobody corners him.”

“You’re scared of what he might do,” Natasha said carefully.

“Yeah. I am. But he’s a lot better. I know he is. I hope that means he’s less…”

“Likely to go on a rampage?” Sam added.

“Sam. Come on, you _know_ that’s not helpful,” Natasha scolded. 

“No, Nat. He’s right. We need to find him. I want to believe that he’s different than he was, that the treatment helped enough, but we don’t know for sure,” said Steve.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” said Natasha. She reached back and gave Steve’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Steve smiled gratefully and squeezed back. “Yeah. We will. I won’t lose him again.” 

* * * 

The three of them arrived in Moscow and made their way to a safe house. It was getting late, and Natasha insisted that they all get plenty of sleep. “It’s hard to perform your best when you’re sleep deprived,” she reminded Steve and Sam. 

Steve lay on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The bed felt cold and empty. He realized that this was the first night he’d gone to bed without Bucky since the first night they’d arrived in D.C., and the thought tightened the knot in his throat. Steve lay awake for hours, his mind a tempest of memories and fears. Bucky looking down at him, adoration and lust in his eyes. Bucky, crying out in the night. Bucky, alone and scared. Where was he? Why had he been ripped away the morning after everything finally began making sense?

When he finally drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams were just as tumultuous. In his nightmare, he was back in Lagos. Rumlow was speaking to him, his voice laden with loathing, “You’ll never get him back, you know. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky, he’s back with me now,” he spat at Steve. 

“He’s _mine_! Not yours, not HYDRA’s, _mine_!” screamed Steve.

Suddenly, Rumlow was Zola. “Sergeant Barnes is ours now,” he said, holding a motorized surgical saw Steve recognized from the Winter Soldier files. 

“You can’t have him. Take me instead. Please,” Steve begged.

“We already have,” Zola cackled. Steve was on an operating table. Where was his arm? What had they done to his arm? “You will be the new fist of HYDRA.” Steve tried to fight back, truly, he did, but there were too many men in white lab coats, and they were holding him down against the table—

Steve awoke to a banging on his door. Natasha’s voice came through, muffled by wood, “Steve! Wake up!” 

He jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, throwing it open. “What is it, Nat?” he asked, worried that something horrible had happened.

“Steve, you were screaming.” 

“Oh. Sorry,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I was having a nightmare. Stuff from the Winter Soldier files…” 

“I’ll say,” said Sam as he padded down the hallway, yawning. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said shakily. 

“You didn’t sound so fine a minute ago,” said Natasha. She sat down on his bed, patting the spot next to her. Steve sat down. “Are you sure you’re okay? You need to stop living so much in your head. Focus on what you can do. You’ll have a better shot of finding Bucky if you’re well-rested and stay sane.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It’s hard, though. Because it’s _Bucky_ , Nat.” 

“I know,” she said, gently rubbing his back. “But do him a favor, and get some sleep.”

“Please, though, no more screaming,” said Sam. “I need my shut-eye, too.” He left to go back to bed. 

“I hope he’s okay,” mumbled Steve. 

“He survived over half a century without you ever knowing that he was even alive. He’s a survivor, Steve. I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Nat, I have to ask you something.”

“What?”

“In the Red Room… when you knew him, did you know who he was?”

“No,” she replied. “ _He_ didn’t even know who he was. He was an incredible fighter… but he was pretty obviously a shell of a person. He was scared and angry, but obedient in a creepy way, like he didn’t know he had a choice in anything at all. Knowing what I know now, it all makes sense. But everyone there was pretty messed up. I never knew about his past, because he never knew about it, either.”

“Thanks,” said Steve. “I just wanted to know.”

I know I keep a lot of secrets, Steve. But I wouldn’t keep that one from you.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

“We’ll find him. I promise.” She squeezed his shoulder, stood up, and left him alone with his thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

**BUCKY**

He knew he liked pretzels. That was a start. He also knew that he had brown hair and blue eyes and was from the United States, most likely from somewhere on the East Coast ( _was he from D.C.? That didn’t seem right_ ), and now he knew that he definitely liked pretzels. He probably wouldn’t be able to piece together much about himself based on that. 

The worst part was that he knew that he’d known who he was. He’d known recently, in fact. But it was gone now, like hearing a melody that’s achingly familiar, but being unable to conjure the song’s title in your mind. Little flashes of recollection came through – the feeling of dog tags around his neck, the sensation of free fall, the cruel buzz of a surgical saw – but they were solitary pieces of an impossible puzzle. ( _He’d had a backpack full of notebooks just for writing down what he’d remembered. But he didn’t have them now. Were they in D.C.? Probably, but he couldn’t be sure._ ) He knew he was “the asset,” he knew they’d called him the Winter Soldier, but what the hell was his real name? 

He’d spent much of the past few days in the dark, sitting in his little flat with papered-over windows on his dirty mattress. But he the darkness and the solitude were getting to him. Of course they were – he knew more about it than anyone should. How being alone – really alone – made consciousness into a blur of sleepless paranoia, shadows that began to creep and move, anxiety crushing down like a block of lead. His mind was in no state to remember anything. He needed to get outside, breathe some fresh air, stretch his legs. 

The sun was shining through a sky dotted with pure-white puffs of cloud. The air was mild, and the first hints of autumn were beginning to stir in the breeze. Again, he walked towards the center of the city, his hat pulled low over his brow. ( _Look out for anyone following. But be subtle about it. Don’t draw attention. Don’t look nervous._ ) The walk was a long one, but it felt good to be outdoors, rather than in the stale air of his musty little flat. 

He was in the winding, cobbled streets of the Old Town district when his heart started hammering in his chest, and all the warmth seemed to seep out of his hand and feet. His vision began to tunnel, and an unfocused dread crept over him. ( _Keep walking, but not too fast. Act normal. Keep it together._ ) A man behind him muttered something in Russian, although he couldn’t make out what he’d said. Increasingly panicked, he ducked into the doorway of an old building, leaning into the shadows. A wrought iron gate blocked the entrance. He grabbed for it, trying to hide while also steadying himself against the vertigo that washed over him. 

Flashback to Siberia. Waking up from the ice, feeling every cell in his body scream from the cold. Cold like you couldn’t describe even if you knew a dozen languages ( _and he did_ ), cold so deep that it made his bones feel brittle. Cold that froze his insides, so as his pulse came back, his heart burned like submerging a frostbitten hand in hot water. He’d known cold before ( _there was a little apartment in a big city, a bed he’d sometimes shared with a sickly, shivering man, no bigger than a boy, as the winter chill crept in – he remembered blond hair and cold feet but nothing more_ ), but not like this. The men in the white coats had swarmed about, jotting notes on clipboards, murmuring to each other in Russian. Always about “the asset.” They looked at him impassively as his body trembled from the pain, from the indescribable cold that made his very organs scream. The men in the white coats did not see a man. They did not see a name ( _and what the hell was his name?_ ) They saw a weapon. 

When he came to, he was crouched in the doorway, shaking. Mercifully, no one had seemed to notice him. He supposed that a man trembling in a doorway probably looked more like an addict than anything else, and most people simply pretended not to see such things. Suffering made people uncomfortable. Slowly, he pulled himself back up to his feet. The panic attack was slowly dissipating. Attempting to ground himself, he looked around, silently naming his surroundings. Wrought-iron gate, rough against his palm. Cobbled street. Stone buildings. The Romanian flag, its primary colors vibrant against the beige stone of the walls. He could stand up, keep moving. Find a pretzel. Maybe some fruit, get some variety in his diet. What fruit did he like? ( _He’d bought fruit here before, he knew it. Something bad had happened, all he’d wanted was plums…_ ) Yes. He did like plums. He would find a pretzel, and maybe some plums, and he’d also find himself a notebook. He needed to start writing things down. He didn’t want to lose any more memories than he already had. 

* * *

He’d eaten a pretzel, bought a tidy little paper bag laden with plums, purchased a notebook and pen small enough to stuff into his jacket pocket, and had found a seat at a modest café with sidewalk seating. He sipped on a coffee, and with one eye on the crowd, began to jot down everything he knew about himself.

**WHO AM I?** he wrote in neatly printed capital letters at the top of the first page. Below, he added I am American. 

**I am from the East Coast?**

**I like pretzels and plums.**

**I have brown hair and blue eyes.**

**I was in the military?**

**I ~~am~~ was the Winter Soldier.**

**I had a blond friend.**

He paused, sipped his coffee, and added **I am gay.** There was a part of him that felt scared to put it into words. Even though he couldn’t remember where or when he came from, he knew that wherever it was, it wasn’t a place where they took kindly to homosexuality. He guessed it didn’t really matter all that much. It wasn’t like he was in any state to go looking for love, or sex, or anything at all. But he guessed it sort of mattered. Said something about who he was. Had he ever been in love, he wondered? ( _Why the hell would that question hurt so much if he hadn’t been?_ ) He’d certainly been with a few men. He could vaguely recall furtive meetings down by the docks, or in secluded corners of alleyways. The smell of unfamiliar brands of pomade, and broad, strong backs bent over before him. It was all a blur. There had always been a feeling of emptiness, of wanting something he couldn’t have. ( _What had he wanted? Who had he wanted?_ ) He knew he had a thing for blond men with dark eyebrows. ( _His friend had been blond; sometimes they shared a bed. Had they been lovers? Why couldn’t he remember more?_ ) 

He sighed, took another sip of coffee. So far, his writing covered half of the first page of his little notebook. Not much to go on. At least he knew that he was a gay American former soldier with a penchant for pretzels and plums, he supposed. It all felt pointless, but he figured that fitting even a few puzzle pieces of himself together counted as progress. 

* * *

That night, curled on his dirty mattress, a nightmare jolted him out of sleep. There had been a fall, endless snow, and excruciating pain. Going into shock, unable to process the bloody tatters of flesh that had replaced his arm. Zola, leaning over him, speaking to him. Saying his name.

He scrambled for his journal. Jotted down four words. **I am Sergeant Barnes.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, Bucky! You can do it!


	13. Chapter 13

**STEVE**

“I’ve hacked into most of the surveillance feeds in Moscow, but I haven’t got a single hit on face-recognition,” Natasha sighed, leaning over a laptop. It had been almost a week, and they’d found nothing. Not a single lead.

“All that means is he’s wearing a baseball cap and looking down,” said Sam. 

“You boys and your baseball caps,” said Natasha.

“Hey, it works,” said Sam. 

“Too well,” said Steve, pacing back and forth across the room. “I’m worried we’re running out of time. Every minute he’s alone, he’s vulnerable.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a lead soon,” Natasha said unconvincingly. 

“You know, Steve… I hate to say this, but have you considered that maybe we’re looking in the wrong place?” Sam asked tentatively. 

“No, I hadn’t. You looked at the surveillance footage from Dulles. He was definitely getting on the flight to Moscow,” Steve said, sounding more defensive than he’d intended to.

“Hey, man. Don’t get snippy with me. I was just asking… what if that isn’t Bucky?” Sam opened his hands in surrender. “But what do I know?” 

“You know, Steve, he might be right,” said Natasha. 

“That _had_ to be Bucky,” said Steve.

“Let me pull up the surveillance footage from Dulles one more time. Just to be sure,” said Natasha. She ran face recognition; no matches. She sat for a few minutes, watching a sped-up feed of the A Concourse. 

“Wait!” said Sam as he bent over the screen. “Go back. Pause.” Natasha clicked back thirty seconds’ time into the feed. “There.” Sam pointed at the screen. A man in a jacket and a baseball cap with dark hair that brushed his shoulders, no backpack. He was looking down, away from the camera, but his jaw and nose were visible. Unmistakably Bucky. “Looks like he’s heading to Gate A34.”

Natasha scrambled to pull up the departure information. “That flight was going to… Frankfurt,” she said. 

“Dammit,” muttered Steve.

“Hey, _language_ ,” Sam and Natasha said in unison. 

“Hush, this isn't the time for that. I can’t believe I gave us a bad lead. I can’t believe I’m letting Bucky down like this. I promised him I’d keep him safe…” Steve trailed off.

“You’re doing the best you can,” assured Natasha.

“I’m not thinking clearly,” said Steve. “I’m failing him because I’m not focusing on the mission.” 

“That’s why you have us,” said Sam. 

Steve sighed. Sam was right, he knew. “Thanks for having my back, both of you. Now that we know he went to Frankfurt, let’s see where he might have gone from there.” 

Steve paced around the room anxiously as Natasha ran seemingly endless footage through the facial recognition program, his mind churning. _How could I have been so stupid?_ he wondered, _How could I have been so sure, but also been wrong?_ Normally he trusted his intuition. It was one of the gifts he’d been born with, not something that had been injected into him. He couldn’t believe that the same intuition that had convinced him that Bucky was still alive in the POW camp, that had known Bucky was innocent of the UN bombing, could have lead him astray. He wasn’t much for self-doubt, never saw the point of it. But at that moment, he doubted himself quite a lot. 

“For the love of God, quit with the pacing!” said Sam. 

“Sorry,” said Steve, stopping in front of the table. “I’m just thinking.”

“That’s obvious. But you’re also distracting Nat,” said Sam.

Steve sat down wordlessly, his brows knit in a concerned furrow. Bucky needed him, and he was being worse than useless. He’d never been this bad before. Even during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d managed to keep it together. But his mind kept playing an endless loop of their last night together, and the agony of losing what he’d only just found was more than he could bear. His body hadn’t forgotten the feel of Bucky inside him, Bucky taking Steve as his own while his eyes shown down with adoration. Bucky’s stubble tickling down his neck, his breath hot and hungry against his collarbone… It would have aroused him if the thought of it didn’t make him so achingly sad. 

“Hey, look at this,” said Natasha. Steve and Sam crowded around the screen. The facial recognition had caught Bucky, finally. There he was, frozen on the screen, his posture of paranoia obvious even through the grainy image. 

“Where is he in this?” asked Steve.

“Munich. Looks like he was going south, maybe east. I’ll run scans on everything I can find from the cities in that direction. It might take a while, though.” Natasha gave Steve a comforting pat on the arm. “You’re not alone in this, Steve. We’re better as a team. And this team is gonna find Bucky.”

* * *

“Well, looks like he passed through about half the Balkan capitals,” said Natasha. It had taken hours, but they’d deduced a rough map of where Bucky had traveled. 

“Why, though?” mumbled Steve.

“I have a theory,” said Natasha. “Bucky’s looking to avoid detection by people he perceives as threats, so he’s avoiding the major transportation hubs of Western Europe because there’s a much larger surveillance apparatus there. But it’s easier to blend in when you’re in a capital – there’s typically lots of people, lots of coming and going, easy to avoid drawing attention. And the path he’s taking… Well, I think I can guess where he is now.”

“Oh?” said Steve. Sam leaned in, too. 

“Well, we can assume he’s probably suffering from some amnesia. He’s probably trying to piece things together. But he’s likely retained, either consciously or unconsciously, some memories of his past. And there’s a place along his presumed path we’ve mapped out that has a lot of significance as far as remembering goes,” said Natasha.

“Bucharest,” said Steve. 

“Exactly,” she replied.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” said Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Sam for being such a useful bro! 
> 
> The next chapter is gonna be a wild ride... I'm SUPER excited to post it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! I'm SO excited to share this chapter with you all, and have been ever since I started planning it out! I've been reading Ed Brubaker's run of Captain America, and although the characters are in many ways very different from how they are in the MCU and in this fic (Sam can communicate with birds, and there's a distinct lack of homoerotic subtext -- or in the case of my story, actual text), I love the almost James Bond feel of Brubaker's storytelling, and I wanted to attempt my own take on that style. 
> 
> A lot of stuff happens, but I don't leave you on TOO evil of a cliffhanger, I swear!

**BUCKY**

The men who came for him arrived while he was sleeping, tossing and turning in an endless loop of nightmares. Maybe if he’d been awake, he’d have been able to fight them off. Perhaps if he’d been eating regularly, or training like he had for so many years, he would have been stronger. But the men were incredibly fast, and moved with remarkable precision, and they had him with a gun to his head before he could throw more than a few punches. One of them held a device to his metal arm that sent volts of electricity crackling through it, rendering it useless. His shoulder ached and burned at the point of contact with his prosthesis, and his heart hammered in his throat.

“No,” he moaned. “Don’t take me back, please, please don’t take me back.”

“Where you’re going isn’t somewhere you’ve been before,” said one of his captors, his face concealed with a black tactical mask. 

“Where the hell are you taking me?” he spat, trying to struggle, outnumbered and in pain. 

“That doesn’t concern you. All you need to know is that our comrade is in custody because of you and your friends, and we’re here to finish what he started.”

“I don’t have any friends,” he replied, confused and terrified. 

“Soon, that will be true,” said his captor. He delivered another shock of electricity, stronger still, and the last thought that passed through his mind before he jolted out of consciousness was _I have friends?_

* * *

**STEVE**

They arrived in Bucharest just before sundown, the city aglow in pink light. Surveillance footage in several locations had picked him up. Natasha had triangulated the data and concluded that he seemed to travel back and forth from downtown and the Militari neighborhood. 

The three of them began searching the area, looking for promising signs of Bucky. Abandoned buildings, vacant flats, papered-over windows. A few places looked like they had potential, but after a couple hours, they began to grow frustrated. Steve felt anger at himself, at Fury, at Fury’s psychologists, and maybe a little, tiny bit, at Bucky. _How did any of this happen?_ he wondered. _How is this fair?_

Sam noticed his white knuckles and clenched jaw. “Hey, man, we’ll find him,” he said, trying to be reassuring.

“We shouldn’t have to find him!” shouted Steve, unable to restrain his outburst. “I finally had him, really _had_ him, and I lost him…” His rage turned to sorrow like a car shifting gears. Tears trickled down his face, hot and stinging. 

“Steve, hey, hey now, it’s okay,” said Natasha, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“No, it’s not,” cried Steve. “You don’t understand. You don’t know. Neither of you do.”

“What don’t we understand?” asked Natasha.

“Bucky, I… I love him.”

“We know,” said Sam.

“No, Sam, I _love_ him.”

“Oh,” said Sam, slowly nodding in comprehension. 

“I guessed as much,” said Natasha. 

“I didn’t, but I’ve never been good at telling these things,” said Sam.

“I finally had him, and now I’ve lost him,” Steve said miserably.

“You’re gonna get him back. We’re close. I know we are,” said Natasha.

“Yeah, Steve. Cheer up,” said Sam, clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t realize I was signing up for a supporting role in Brokeback Bucharest, but hey, man… you’re the best guy I know, and if I know that the love of your life is at stake, I’ll do whatever I can to help you get ‘em back.”

* * * 

**BUCKY**

When he came to, he was in the back of a van, rattling down a rough road. From the sound of branches scraping against the vehicle, he guessed they must be somewhere rural and wooded. His captors had him in hand and ankle cuffs, the handcuffs equipped with the same electric pulse that kept his arm as useless as a ragdoll. Two men, dressed in black tactical outfits, sat on either side of him.

“Where the hell are we?” he asked.

“That is not your concern.”

“Who is your ‘comrade?’” he asked.

“He was Helmut Zemo. He was a great man. Our leader. Now he rots in prison because of you and your selfish friends.”

“I don’t know him. I don’t know anyone,” he said, confused. ( _Zemo… he could recall a face through reinforced glass, a tape playing, a terrible guilt…_ )

“The intel was right,” one of his captors said to the other. “He is stupid.”

“He’s dangerous, though,” the other captor replied.

“Fuck you. I’m not who I was back then. I don’t know exactly who I am, but my _name_ is _Barnes_.”

“He’s annoying me,” said one of his captors. The other captor adjusted a knob in his hand, and another jolt of electricity knocked him unconscious. 

* * *

**STEVE**

When they came to the little flat with nothing but a dirty mattress for furniture, broken windows and torn paper on the ground, Steve knew that his intuition was correct. Bucky was in danger, he was probably hurt, and he needed Steve. 

“Natasha, pull up all the security cameras in this area,” commanded Steve. 

“Already on it,” she said, leaning over her laptop. “I see some men in black tactical suits, cramming a bundle into an unmarked white van. I’ve got the plates, let’s see where it went… Looks like we’ve got a few hits to the northwest. Crossed out of Wallachia and into Transylvania approximately twenty minutes ago.”

“We need to follow it. Now,” said Steve. 

“I’ll try to track it from the air,” said Sam. “You two follow by car?”

“Yes,” said Steve. “Let’s go get him.”

* * *

**BUCKY**

He wasn’t sure if it was the electrical shocks that did it, or the trauma of the night, or his mind slowly regaining control of itself, but when he came to, he was in a stone room, in chains, the cuffs still immobilizing his arm, and he knew with absolute certainty that his name was James Buchanan Barnes, but his _real_ name, the one that mattered, was Bucky. 

And he also knew that these men, the ones who’d taken him prisoner, were using him as bait. And the man he loved, the man the world knew as Captain America but whose name was Steven Grant Rogers, the man who he’d called Stevie since they’d been boys together in Brooklyn before the war – he was in danger. 

* * * 

**STEVE**

“At least they weren’t hard to track,” Steve said into his comms device. 

“It must be amateur hour in Dracula’s Castle,” said Sam, his voice crackling through Steve’s earpiece. Sam was approximately twenty yards above them, Natasha and Steve cruising below in a car. Sam had been relentlessly attempting the mood light, mostly through insufferably bad jokes.

“I know we’re in Transylvania, but I swear that if I hear one more stupid vampire joke, I’m turning off my comms,” muttered Natasha. 

“Fine. I’ll just switch back to singing _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ soundtrack, then,” Sam replied. Before he could launch into the first notes of “Sweet Transvestite,” Natasha made good on her promise, clicking off her earpiece. 

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” she said to Steve. 

Steve winced as Sam failed to hit several key notes of the melody. “Occasionally he’s serious. Plus his suit is pretty cool.”

“That’s true. I do love the guy, even if he can’t hold a tune,” said Natasha.

“Looks like we’re almost there. Seriously, they took him to the ruins of a castle?” Sam asked Steve over the comms.

“Apparently. Let’s go see why,” said Steve. He was trying to focus on the mission, but his stomach was still doing nervous flips. They stopped the car in the woods, and Sam landed beside them. They approached the castle stealthily, weapons drawn. The van they’d followed was parked in front of what had once been the castle’s gate, but was now nothing more than a couple rusted hinges hanging in a stone doorway. 

“Spooky,” whispered Sam.

“Reminds me of some of the places we went to during the war,” said Steve. 

“You really are a grandpa,” teased Sam, but his voice shook a little, belying his joking tone. The place really was creepy. 

“Shhhh,” hissed Natasha. “I think I hear someth-”

Their assailants came from behind and above, using the terrain of the castle wall and the wooded land around it to their advantage. “Twelve hostiles to my count!” shouted Steve as they swarmed around the three of them. 

“Where the hell did they come from?!” Sam shouted back, immediately before an electric pulse device latched onto him, disabling his suit. He struggled to move, until one of the men in black tactical suits hit him hard in the head with the butt of a gun. He collapsed to the ground. 

“We may have underestimated the situation!” Natasha shouted as she took a flying leap at two of the men as they walked through the doorway. They stepped to the side, and she flew directly into a booby trap, wire netting flying up around her and suspending her in the air. “Look out, Steve!” she shouted, before one of their attackers shot her with a volt of electricity that knocked her unconscious. 

Steve was swarmed, fighting tooth and nail, feeling utterly naked without his shield. It had become like another part of him, as fundamental to his identity as the title Captain America, and his last thought before his attackers shocked him was _I need to get my shield back_.

* * *

**BUCKY**

There was a pattern to the electrical pulse in his handcuffs. He just needed to figure it out. Silently, he counted, _one, two, three, four, five, six, PULSE, one, two, three, four, five, six, PULSE_. If he could just summon the strength on the sixth count, he might be able to break the cuffs. But the shocks were painful; they made his muscles feel like jelly. He took a deep breath, tried to remember that he was strong. He’d been through worse than this. He could find it in him to fight through the pain, break the cuffs. 

On the sixth count, he jerked his wrists apart. The sharp metal of the cuff cut into his right wrist, blood trickling onto his hand, but the restraints didn’t budge. 

Shit.

He felt panic building in him, staring down the crushing weight of helplessness. Steve needed him ( _Steve who he loved, Steve who he had finally, finally made love to_ ), and he was useless. 

He needed to be stronger. Smarter. There had to be some way. The familiar anger grew in him, a red veil between him and the world. When he’d been the Winter Soldier, the anger had driven him, guided his fists like marionette strings. Now, it boiled up in him – anger at the men who’d taken him captive, anger at HYDRA for all the years they’d used him as a weapon, anger at Steve for taking so long to realize he loved him back ( _and for walking into a trap, an obvious trap, the big dummy_ ), but mostly anger at himself. If only he’d been stronger, braver, smarter, better, more… maybe it all could have been different. 

_One, two, three, four, five, six_ —he smashed his wrists against the wall, metal cuffs and metal hand shooting sparks. He looked down. The cuffs were smoking a little. _One, two, three, four, five, six… seven… eight…_ Nothing. No pulse of electricity. He twisted his left wrist against the cuffs until they bent as though they were made of rubber. Ripped his left hand out, released his right hand with his left, and scrambled at his ankle cuffs. 

A man walked into his cell, holding a sheet of paper. “Nice try, but those cuffs won’t budge. And anyway, soon you’ll be free anyway. We just need you to comply. Revenge is sweeter when it’s served by one of one’s own. Zemo tried to use you to tear your friends apart figuratively, but we are going to do it literally.”

Bucky looked up frantically, dread chilling the pit of his stomach colder than being frozen ever could. 

His captor began to speak in Russian. “Longing.” Bucky screamed. ( _No no no no no, this couldn’t be happening._ ) 

“Rusted.” ( _Not the trigger, not the trigger, not again, not to Steve and his friends, not to the man he loved._ )

“Seventeen.” ( _He couldn’t become a monster again, never again_.)

“Daybreak.” ( _He had to be strong. Had to be stronger than the HYDRA conditioning, stronger than the man trying to control him._ )

“Furnace.” ( _He could resist. He could endure this. He could fight back._ )

“Nine.” ( _He had endured worse._ )

“Benign.” ( _Remember that he was James Buchanan Barnes, who loved pretzels and plums and hot dogs at Coney Island and a man named Steve Rogers._ )

“Homecoming.” ( _He needed to be strong to save Stevie. His Stevie._ )

“One.” ( _His name was Bucky, and he wasn’t going to forget that ever again._ )

“Freight Car.” Bucky ripped at his ankle cuffs, sending them flying. The man winced back in surprise.

“Soldier?” the man said, his voice shaking.

Bucky stared at him, walked forward, and extended his metal arm, lifting the man by the neck. As he struggled, Bucky hissed, “I was a soldier once. But now I only fight for one man. And he goes by Captain America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fist pumping*
> 
> Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!


	15. Chapter 15

**REUNION**

When they came to, they were all shackled to a damp stone wall. Steve’s head pounded, and his arm was numb where he’d been shocked. 

“What the hell?” moaned Sam.

“Ugh,” Natasha replied. “How did they do that?” 

“We were stupid and overconfident. We went in without considering that we might be dealing with a serious opponent, and we got our asses kicked,” said Sam.

“Oof,” groaned Steve. “I gotta find a way outta these, gotta find Bucky.” He strained against his cuffs, but they were surprisingly strong. 

“Who _are_ these guys, anyway?” mused Natasha. 

“Well, they’ve got us chained up in a literal dungeon, so I’ll give them style points,” said Sam. 

The door on the opposite side of the room creaked open, and a man stepped in. He was dressed in the same black tactical gear as the others, but he’d removed his mask and helmet. Six other men stepped in, fully geared up and holding Kalashnikovs.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Bucky?!” shouted Steve.

“Shut up,” the man replied. “This isn’t time for questions. This is time for retribution.”

“For what?” asked Sam. “What did we ever do to you?”

“You and your friends, you took everything from us. Our country was just a toy to you. Used up and tortured like HYDRA used up and tortured your feeble-minded friend. Our comrade Zemo tried to defeat you. He used more… elegant means. But you and your Wakandan friend took away the only thing he had left to live for – revenge.”

“You’re EKO Scorpion,” said Natasha. “A pretty notorious group.”

“We do the jobs too ugly for the world to see,” he replied. 

“So did Bucky, but you don’t see him capturing and torturing people because of what he’s lost,” said Steve.

“Many of us lost _everything_. Zemo certainly did.” 

“I can’t argue with that,” said Steve. “What happened in Sokovia was a catastrophe. Nobody should have to lose their family to war. We made every effort to minimize casualties – it was our top priority. It kills me that people died because of the mistakes that my colleagues and I made. But you can’t always stop bad things from happening. You have a duty to do your very best, but nobody can prevent every tragedy. We all lose people. We all have to live to see some of our nightmares come true. That’s not a choice. But what we _do_ have a choice in is how we react to the tragedies we’re faced with. Whether we choose to resort to cruelty and bitterness, or rise up and strive to make the world a better place… that’s the true measure of character.”

“You can pretend at virtue all you want, but we Sokovians know the truth. You’re nothing but puppets of the regimes that have destabilized our nation for years, left our people hungry and resentful.”

“That’s not true,” said Steve. 

“You’re called Captain America,” countered the man.

“I don’t stand for regimes. I don’t even stand for my government, at least not any more. Not after the Accords. I stand for the principles that made me want to enlist during World War II, the principles that make me want to fight against evil in whatever form it takes. Being Captain America isn’t about following orders. It’s about fighting for conscience, standing up to tyranny, and the desire to undo injustice.” 

“Keep lying to yourself, but we know the truth. And now that we have you, we will make sure you never lie to anyone else ever again.”

The men flanking him lowered their guns, aiming at Steve, Sam, and Natasha.

“Where is the asset?” the man asked one of his comrades. His comrade shrugged. “He was supposed to complete his mission-”

* * *

He came bursting through the door with the same animalistic fury he’d fought Steve with in the streets of D.C. Steve saw that he’d somehow acquired one of their captor’s tactical outfits, and had, of course, ripped the left sleeve off to accommodate the full functions of his arm. He flew from man to man, knocking Kalashnikovs from their hands before they could so much as aim at him, sending his opponents careening back into the walls, the hidden mechanisms in his arm whirring as he unleashed its power on them. 

Steve watched, mouth agape, as Bucky fought the unmasked man who’d spoken to him. The rest of the EKO Scorpion team was either unconscious or incapacitated. The man whipped out a knife, slashing at Bucky with impressive speed, but Bucky’s left arm flew up to block the blow, the metal on metal showering sparks. The man slashed at Bucky again and again, until finally he landed a blow. A slash across his chest. The combat-designed clothing protected against the knife a bit, but Steve winced as he heard fabric rip. However, this only seemed to make Bucky fiercer. His fist flew out, seized the knife, threw it into the wooden door. The man backed away, but Bucky marched forward, picked him up by the neck, and threw him back into the wall. The man collapsed on the ground, unconscious. 

Bucky turned and looked at Steve.

“Bucky?” said Steve, his voice trembling.

“You’re damn right,” Bucky replied. 

“Thank you,” Natasha said quietly.

“Yes. Thanks,” agreed Sam. “You saved our lives, man.”

“Let me get these shackles off of you,” Bucky said. He walked up to Natasha, and with a whir from his arm, ripped the cuffs from the wall. He did the same for Sam. When he got to Steve, he paused. Turning to Natasha and Sam, he said, “Why don’t you secure all these guys before they come to? I’d like to… _talk_ to Steve.”

Nat and Sam both raised their eyebrows, but obeyed, dragging the men one by one down the hallway to lock them up. 

Bucky gave Steve a look that appeared to be a strange blend of anger and adoration. As Natasha and Sam left the room with the final pair of EKO Scorpion members, Bucky closed the door behind them, and walked up to Steve, cupping his hands behind Steve’s head. 

“Are you okay?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah. Are _you_ okay, Buck? You’re bleeding a little,” said Steve. The blood on Bucky’s hand from when he’d first tried to break out of his cuffs had begun to dry, and the slash in his tactical jacket revealed a shallow slash across his chest, blood seeping almost invisibly into the black fabric around the wound. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but it looked painful.

“I’m okay. We need to have a conversation about putting yourself in danger while trying to rescue me, though.” Bucky furrowed his brows at Steve, but the concern beneath his anger was obvious. 

“Sorry… I was just so worried… And Buck, are you planning on taking these shackles off me anything soon?”

“Yeah. But first there’s one thing I gotta do.” Bucky leaned against Steve, pressing him into the dungeon wall as he kissed him hard on the mouth, his right hand in Steve’s hair and his left around his waist. 

_I think there are a few things we gotta do_ , thought Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, Bucky! Whew! 
> 
> Also, if you've been waiting for Stucky smut, the wait is about to be over... O_o


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, Stucky dungeon smut.
> 
> I've been making myself blush *cough cough* just by writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Bucky kissed Steve fiercely. His stubble had grown out over the week, and its blunt scratch against Steve’s face from the week before was now a soft tickle. He pressed his whole body against Steve’s with the hunger that only reunited lovers know, hips against hips, and sensation of Bucky’s cock hardening, straining against his pants, had Steve’s own body responding in kind. 

Bucky pulled away, looked up at Steve’s shackles. 

“Actually, leave them. Just get my ankles free,” Steve commanded. Bucky raised his eyebrows, his eyes glinting as he considered the potentials of their current situation. He reached down, his arm whirring, and ripped the ankle cuffs away. Steve tenderly shook out his stiff legs. “Much better.” 

“Stevie… I wanna do things to you that I won’t ever be able to forget.”

“I’d like that, Buck. I’d like that a lot.”

“There’s nothing like lube here, though,” Bucky muttered, sounding vexed. Steve could tell from the bulge in his pants that he desperately needed a solution to this dilemma. 

“You can get creative. And anyway, my body can take more than a normal human’s. You know that.” Steve raised one eyebrow, daring Bucky to show just how creative he could be. Steve’s own body ached for Bucky, his cock ram-rod hard and pulsing with desire. They would find a way. He didn’t think he could handle _not_ finding a way.

Bucky stepped forward again towards Steve, torturously slowly. He ran his right hand slowly down Steve’s body, starting at his chest and moving, oh-so-very-languidly, down his belly, then reaching to cup his hand over Steve’s crotch, cupping his balls. Steve gasped. 

“God, Stevie. So hard,” Bucky said, smirking with the confident grin that Steve had secretly been in love with for so many decades. 

“So what’re you gonna do about it?” Steve asked, smirking back. 

“ _Everything_ ,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s ear. In a flash, Bucky’s metal arm had ripped Steve’s shirt from his body ( _Well, so much for pretending Bucky and I were “just talking” when we join up with Nat and Sam_ , thought Steve). Changing tactics, Bucky knelt before Steve, slowly, teasingly slowly, untying his shoes before tossing them across the dungeon. His socks went next, and then Bucky removed his pants and boxers in one fell tug. Steve stood completely naked against the wall, his wrists still cuffed just above his shoulders, his cock straining towards Bucky. “I could just look at you like this all night and never get bored,” said Bucky, stepping back, his eyes fixated on Steve’s cock. Steve had never felt so exposed, but the feeling of Bucky’s hungry eyes devouring him only made him harder. 

“As much as I can tell you’re enjoying teasing me, Buck, I also know you’re a man who doesn’t like to wait for what he wants.”

“Steve, I waited _decades_ for this. But you’re right. I think it’s time I got creative with you.” He knelt between Steve’s knees, took one long, slow lick up Steve’s cock, and then gently lifted Steve’s legs, one at a time, onto his shoulders. Grabbing the back of Steve’s thighs, he pushed up and back, bracing Steve against the wall. He tenderly kissed his way up one of Steve’s inner thighs, slowing down at the point where strong leg met firm buttock. 

“Oh,” breathed Steve. 

“I’ve never done this before,” admitted Bucky, “So I’m sorry if I’m not very good.” 

“Shut up, Buck. You’ve never been bad at anything, you jerk.” Steve didn’t know what Bucky was planning to do, but he couldn’t imagine him being anything less than spectacular at it. 

“Oh, I’m bad at all sorts of things. Never was much good at math, you may recall. But I hope I’m good at this.” Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against Steve’s ass. Slowly, his mouth found his way to its destination, and Steve gasped as he began slowly exploring. Bucky hungrily caressed Steve with his tongue, his licks giving Steve sensations so achingly good that he wondered how he’d survived so long without this feeling. It felt like an itch being scratched, amplified by a thousand. Bucky’s tongue being… there… made Steve blush, but he figured that since he’d been a virgin up until last week, he had a lot of things to discover that might make him blush. 

“Holy… God, Buck…” Bucky responded with a delicate trill of his tongue against Steve. “Ahhhhh!” he cried out, his body trembling with pleasure. The feeling of Bucky’s tongue tenderly having its way with him was incredible. As Bucky’s mouth became more confident and aggressive, his wet tongue beginning to find its way inside Steve, all he could do was tremble and whimper, held captive against the wall by shackles and the incapacitating forces of pleasure coursing through him. He moaned as he felt Bucky press against the tight ring of muscle, easing deeper into him. Finally, as he felt his pleasure approaching the point of no return, Bucky pulled away. 

“Was that creative enough?” he asked, looking up at Steve with shining eyes, his lips wet with spit. 

“Uh… I would say… yeah…” gasped Steve, his whole body shaking. 

Bucky gently lowered Steve’s legs and stepped back, beginning to disrobe. He took off his top first. Steve winced when he saw the knife wound gashed across his broad chest. It was the kind of wound that would surely leave a scar. It wasn’t Bucky’s first scar, of course – he had plenty already, and the point where his prosthetic met his shoulder was laced with them – but Steve hated to see Bucky get hurt protecting him. He was distracted from the knife wound, however, as Bucky slid his pants down. Steve noted that he wasn’t wearing underwear, but only briefly, as his focus immediately shifted to Bucky’s cock, so strong and solid and achingly erect, straining up out of its nest of dark curls. Bucky strode toward him, all strong thighs and lithe confidence, his metal hand tearing Steve’s wrist shackles off like they were made of tinfoil. 

Taking Steve’s hands in his own, he led him into the middle of the dungeon. It felt like a dance, although Steve had never had learned how to dance, even after all these years. “The ground’s real cold, Stevie. So you should be on top of me,” Bucky said. 

“I’m not that sickly kid in Brooklyn any more. I can handle it.”

“No offense, but I think I’ve got more experience with cold than you do,” said Bucky.

“I was frozen for longer,” said Steve, jokingly defensive.

“I’ll bet S.H.I.E.L.D. was nicer at defrosting you. And they only did it once,” said Bucky.

“Probably. You win,” sighed Steve. 

“Of course I do,” teased Bucky. He began to lie down on the frigid stone floor, pulling Steve down on top of him. Steve brushed Bucky’s hair back, and kissed him, gently at first, but with increasing passion. He knew exactly where Bucky’s tongue had just been, but as their mouths parted and their tongues found each other, he didn’t care. Slowly, Steve pulled away from Bucky’s mouth, trailing his kisses down his chin, his jaw, his collarbone, working his way down.

“Whew, Buck. I’ll be honest – you stink a little bit,” said Steve. Granted, he didn’t mind it. During the war, they’d been afforded rare opportunities to bathe, and he’d grown accustomed to the smell of unwashed men. And anyway, something about the smell Bucky’s sweat only made Steve’s desire more potent. It reminded Steve of a time when they were in the Howling Commandos and they’d come under sniper fire unexpectedly in the winter woods. Steve had tackled Bucky to the ground, covering them with his shield, and for a brief moment, they’d been face-to-face on the ground, and Steve had smelled snowy trees, and Bucky’s wool coat, and Bucky’s sweat, and their faces had been so close that for a moment they were breathing the same air… But despite the eroticism of nostalgia, Bucky was undeniably pungent. 

“Well, I haven’t showered in about a week. Been a little busy trying to remember who I am.”

“It’s okay, Bucky. I sort of… like it?”

“Who knew Captain America was such a nasty boy?” Bucky teased in a low, rough voice, his eyes smoldering with a look that Steve wanted to get to know intimately. Wanting to prove himself to Bucky somehow, especially after the things he’d done to Steve’s ass that made him blush just thinking about it, he took Bucky’s cock in his hand, and never breaking eye contact, lowered his mouth to its moist tip, giving it a slow, swirling lick, tasting salt and the sour tang of sweat. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered. Steve began to move his mouth up and down Bucky’s cock in slow strokes, taking him deeper and deeper with each motion of his head. After a few bobs, he felt the tip bump against his throat. Taking a long breath through his nose, Steve willed his throat open, taking Bucky in all the way up to the base of his cock. Bucky gasped as Steve slowly moved his mouth and throat up and down. 

Steve felt Bucky’s fingers weave their way into his hair, pulling him up. “I need you. Now,” said Bucky, in that same low, rough voice. He pulled Steve forward, grabbed his hips, and positioned his ass over his cock. “I’ll go slow at first. Don’t wanna hurt you, Stevie.”

“I can take it,” Steve whispered down at him. 

In response, Bucky guided Steve’s hips down, his cock pressing against the warm flesh of Steve’s ass. The floor was cold, but Bucky was used to the cold. All he cared about was finding his way inside of Steve, finding reunion with the man he’d loved and lost, and loved ( _really loved, in every sense of the word_ ) and lost again. Slowly, he thrust up, his cock pressing its way into Steve. He eased in slowly – the combined efforts of their oral pleasures weren’t quite as effective as Vaseline in terms of lubrication, but they were helping a little. Steve gasped, his body beginning to relax into Bucky’s gentle thrusts, letting out little moans with each stroke. Steve was more vocal of a lover than Bucky had ever had ( _and far more vocal than he imagined he’d be_ ), and each little noise awoke a rising hunger in Bucky to make Steve moan and cry out. He tried to hold back his thrusts, not wanting to hurt Steve, but he ached to find wherever it was in his ass that would make Steve scream in ecstasy. 

Slowly, as the tightness eased and his body began to long for more of Bucky, Steve began to move his hips in concert with Bucky’s, his hips rocking down as Bucky’s thrust up, taking him deeper and deeper. Bucky kept his hands on Steve’s hips, guiding him through the dance of their bodies. Soon, Steve was taking all of Bucky in, feeling Bucky’s coarse hair press against his ass with each stroke. Bucky bit his lip, the warmth and snugness and sheer pleasure of Steve’s body almost unbearable. ( _Never forget this. Never again._ ) As his cock gradually found its way deeper and deeper into Steve, searching for the hidden point inside him that would unlock a whole other realm of pleasures, Bucky reached down, taking Steve’s cock in his hand as he bounced on top of him. In rhythm with their panting thrusts and Steve’s soft moans, Bucky began to slide his hand up and down, pleasuring Steve in as many ways as he could manage. 

Steve moaned louder and louder, Bucky’s efforts hitting their mark. Bucky, in turn, felt his thighs begin to tremble, his cock twitching. Simultaneously, Bucky released himself into Steve, crying out in a low moan as his cock twitched in Steve’s ass, as Steve climaxed as well, his come arcing over Bucky’s belly, slicking Bucky’s hand. 

They came to rest, Steve curled alongside Bucky. 

“Holy…” murmured Steve.

“…Shit,” finished Bucky.

“That wasn’t the word I was going to use,” said Steve.

“It absolutely was,” retorted Bucky.

“…Don’t tell Nat and Sam,” Steve whispered in Bucky’s ear. 

Bucky chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Here, let me clean you up,” said Steve, reaching for the tatters of his shirt. He gently wiped Bucky’s chest and belly clean. “I was so scared, Buck,” he admitted. 

“Me too.”

“I was scared I’d never get a chance to say it to you, you know,” said Steve.

“Say what?” asked Bucky. 

“I love you. I love you so much, Bucky.” Steve reached down to touch Bucky’s face, his thumb smoothing down his cheek.

“God, Steve, I love you,” replied Bucky, turning his head to kiss Steve’s palm. “Loving you is… it’s one of the only things that keeps me going. Never felt like I had much hope for a future, never felt like I deserved any sort of redemption… but even when I couldn’t remember _you_ , something in me remembered how I felt about you. It kept me asking questions, instead of just giving up. I love you so much, Steve. I’ve loved you forever, and I’ll love you for the rest of forever, too.”

Steve leaned over, pulling Bucky into his arms, holding his head to his chest. “I’m never losing you again,” promised Steve.

“Just promise you’ll never do anything this stupid again. As much as I get off on rescuing Captain America,” Bucky smirked, the obscene glint returning to his eyes, “It would _kill_ me if anything bad ever happened to you. _Especially_ if it happened because of me. Do you understand?” Bucky demanded, his expression serious again.

“I’ll do my best. But you know me. If I see something bad happening, I have to do my best to stop it. I can’t just look the other way for safety’s sake. That’s not who I am.”

“I know. You wouldn’t be Steve Rogers, otherwise. But please… promise me to do your best to be safe? For me?”

“I promise, Buck. I’m yours, forever. I’m with you till the end of the line.”

“Till the end of the line,” echoed Bucky. 

They embraced in silence for a few blissful minutes, but the dungeon was cold, and Natasha and Sam were probably wondering – if they hadn’t already guessed – what they were up to. They pulled back on their clothes, except, of course, for Steve’s shirt, and left to find their friends.


	17. Chapter 17

When they reunited with Sam and Natasha, their responses were predictable – Nat raised one eyebrow, smirking, and Sam blurted out, “How you two lovebirds doing?” 

“Good,” said Steve, blushing a shade of red that approximately matched the star on Bucky’s arm, and crossing his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to divert attention away from his partial nudity. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “Did you secure the hostiles?”

“Yep,” said Natasha. “We’ve got them locked up, disarmed, and temporarily unconscious. Since we’re _technically_ operating outside our jurisdiction, I contacted local authorities to bring them in. They know these guys are bad news, and they also know they’re a disbanded Sokovian military outfit operating on Romanian soil. They should be here shortly. But we should probably clear out before they get here, because I may have failed to mention that we have both Steve Rogers and the formerly-most-wanted James Buchanan Barnes with us…”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” said Steve, shivering a little. The castle was chilly, especially without a shirt. 

This time, they all piled into the car – Natasha at the wheel, Steve in the passenger seat, and Sam and Bucky in the back. Natasha began to drive them back to Bucharest, and their Quinjet. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sam piped up, “Hey, Bucky. I think that maybe we can be friends after all. I’ll admit, I was a little jealous before. Since, you know, I’m Steve’s best bro from this century and all, and you’re his best bro from last century… I felt a little threatened, you know? But since now I know we’re not trying to be the same _kind_ of bro, I feel like maybe we could be friends.”

“Is that so?” said Bucky, looking out the window with exaggerated disinterest.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I mean, Steve _is_ pretty and all, but he’s just not my type, if you get my meaning.” 

“He’d better not be,” said Bucky, “Or we’re gonna have a problem.” He attempted to sound intimidating, but the smirk spreading across his face ruined the illusion. 

“You two never let up, do you?” asked Natasha, rolling her eyes.

“They really don’t,” Steve agreed.

“Can I nominate Bucky for ‘first to take a shower?’” asked Sam.

“I’ll be honest – you do stink a little bit,” Natasha confessed.

“Believe me, I know,” said Bucky. “It’s hard to shower when the flat you’re squatting in has its water cut off.”

“I’ve been there,” Natasha said, feeling bad about drawing attention to what was clearly a symptom of Bucky’s traumatic past week. “We’re just glad you’re safe.”

Steve reached back, taking Bucky’s hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We were all worried, Buck,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Bucky. “Sorry to make you worry. I should have been stronger, back in D.C.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Steve.

“They… they tried to trigger me back in the castle,” said Bucky.

“They did?” asked Steve, his voice laden with concern. 

“They were trying to make me…” Bucky trailed off.

“What, Bucky?” Natasha gently prompted him.

“They – they wanted me to hurt you. To use me to get revenge. But I’m not gonna be anyone’s weapon anymore. Fighting’s just about the only thing I’m good at, but if I do fight, it’s gotta be on my terms. So I couldn’t let them win. I couldn’t stand the idea of hurting you again,” said Bucky, his voice shaking.

Steve squeezed his hand again. “I’m so proud of you.”

“We all are,” said Natasha. 

“Even me,” said Sam.

All four of them fell into an exhausted silence. When they got back to Bucharest, Natasha took them directly to the Quinjet, and they all piled in. Nat piloted, and Sam sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Steve and Bucky sat in the back of the cockpit after Steve had retrieved another shirt from his bag. As they flew back to D.C., Bucky began to nod off. He leaned over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve wrapped his arms around him, resting his own head atop Bucky’s. Gradually, they slipped off into sleep together. Sam turned around, saw them, and poked Natasha. She turned around, too. The two friends smiled at Steve and Bucky, and then at each other, before turning their attention back to the control panel. 

For the first time in years, Bucky’s dreams never once turned into nightmares. He dreamed of being a young soldier somewhere in snowy woods, cocky and self-assured in his woolen uniform. Steve was in a tent, peering over a map, as Bucky strode in. As he looked up at Bucky, pretty blue eyes framed with dark lashes, Bucky reached out for Steve’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. Pulled him in, kissed him, unafraid of being noticed, of attracting the wrong attention. Because it was _Steve_ , dammit, and even though Bucky got scared sometimes ( _not that he would ever admit it_ ), how could he be scared when the bravest and best man he knew was holding him in his arms?


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing Bucky did when they got back to Steve’s apartment was take a shower. They were right – he did stink. He let the water stay almost scalding hot, the steam filling Steve’s bathroom. _If people knew how much they’d miss bathing if they lost it, nobody would ever want to dry off_ , he thought. HYDRA had never let him take showers, not in any real sense. A cold blast from a hose didn’t exactly count. He knew that some people liked cool showers, but he couldn’t imagine it. Being warm was a gift. He’d be damned if he didn’t take advantage of that.

He looked down at his body, at the metal arm that had once felt alien, but now felt as familiar as his own flesh. When he’d first awoken on the operating table with a new, terribly powerful prosthetic arm, he’d been repulsed by it. The red star on his shoulder, the mark of the Russian HYDRA scientists who handled him, had felt like a brand. Like he was nothing more than a beast to be marked and owned. But the loathsome intentions of his arm ( _as much as he knew they’d succeeded, time and time again_ ) could be defied. So many times, he’d questioned whether he could ever become more than the Winter Soldier. Whether he was truly strong enough to fight back. Even after Wakanda, he’d doubted that he was truly recovered. He didn’t know if it had been the doubt that made him weak, that made him fall to his trigger phrase. He’d doubted himself back in the castle, too, but he’d resisted. For Steve.

Bucky slowly clenched his left fist, watching water stream down his knuckles. His arm would always be a symbol of what he had been, what they’d made him become. But, it occurred to him, he could find a way to turn it into something useful. Maybe even something good. His mind traveled back to Bucharest. One day he’d aimlessly wandered into a museum on one of his long, searching walks. There’d been a flag there, one from the Romanian Revolution. The communist coat of arms had been torn from the heart of the flag in defiance of the regime. It was only a symbol, but hey, symbols could be powerful. ( _Like Captain America, for instance._ ) It was time for him to fight back against what he had been, to atone in some small, inadequate way for his sins. And it was time to replace his star, to free his arm to move past its cruel history. But with what?

Bucky heard a gentle knock on the door. “Steve?” he said, his heart momentarily racing, his body subconsciously preparing to run. ( _He shouldn’t be so paranoid. He was safe now._ )

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to startle you. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” replied Bucky. “What for?” 

The door creaked open, and Steve poked his head in around the shower curtain. “I’m not exactly smelling like roses myself.”

“One of us had to say it,” said Bucky, smirking gently at Steve. 

Steve looked Bucky over, admiring how the sheen of water made the contours of his muscles shine. “I was gonna wait, but you’re taking so long.”

“Sorry,” Bucky sighed. “I can get out in a minute. I was just enjoying actually getting to bathe.”

“Well,” said Steve. “You can get out – or I can just hop in with you. It might be useful. I can make sure you didn’t miss any spots,” he said with a wink.

Bucky smiled. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Steve flicked the curtain closed again, disappearing in the rustle of clothes falling to the floor. A few moments later, he slid the curtain aside again and stepped in. 

“Whew, you like your shower _hot!_ ” said Steve, wincing a little as the water cascaded over him.

“Sorry,” said Bucky. “Back when I was the Winter Soldier, they’d just hose me off with cold water if I got dirty on my missions. I’m just really savoring the feeling of being warm while getting clean.”

“Oh. Sorry,” said Steve. Sometimes he felt like everything he said to Bucky just served as an unintentional reminder of his painful memories. He wished he could just stop putting his foot in his mouth.

“Stevie,” said Bucky, taking Steve’s chin gently in his metal hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

“I just don’t wanna remind you of all the bad stuff that happened to you,” Steve sighed, looking away.

Bucky guided Steve’s chin back towards him, resuming their eye contact. “Not talking about the bad stuff doesn’t make it go away. It just gives it more power,” said Bucky. 

“Okay, Buck. I’m always happy to talk about anything with you.”

Bucky smiled, and turned to pump the water temperature down a notch. “Mind if I, you know, wash you a little?” asked Bucky, cocking one eyebrow. 

“That sounds nice,” said Steve.

Bucky grabbed the bar of soap, working it into a lather in his hands, and then began gently rubbing Steve down with the suds, starting at his neck, and working down to his shoulders and arms. “This reminds me of one time when you had the flu,” said Bucky, his voice suddenly serious.

“Oh?” said Steve. He had no recollection of any such occasion.

“Do you not remember?” asked Bucky, sounding retroactively concerned. “Jesus, Stevie. You were even worse than I thought.”

“What happened?” asked Steve.

“You had the flu. Real bad. You’d had a fever for days, doctor told me it was around a hundred-four, maybe hundred-five degrees. Bad. You were in bed and you just kept shivering, but you were sweating buckets. Your hair was wet, like you’d just come in from the rain or something. You kept mumbling and I couldn’t make out what you were saying, but eventually I made out what you kept repeating. ‘Gotta wash myself, Buck, I’m making your sheets dirty.’ I was ignoring it ‘cause I figured getting you wet was the last thing I should do, and anyway you were clearly delirious, but you just wouldn’t shut up about it. So I heated up some water in a pot, and carried you down the hall to the bathroom with a change of pajamas and a that big old quilt we used to have, peeled your sweaty, sick-smelling clothes off you, and got you in the bathtub. I gave you a little sponge bath, ‘cause I didn’t want you to get too wet, and dried you off and got you dressed, which was really hard ‘cause you couldn’t even stand up at all, and wrapped you up in that big old quilt, and brought you back to bed.” Bucky relayed this story while soaping Steve’s back, which had once been bird-frail, but was now all broad muscles and taught, smooth skin.

“I’m sorry. Sorry you had to worry about me so much,” said Steve.

“I was so scared, Stevie. I know you had some bad sicknesses, but that was one of the worst.”

“Sounds like it,” said Steve.

“You coughed all night. You were wheezing so bad. I didn’t sleep at all,” Bucky recalled, choking up a little at the memory. “I just held on to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about how small you’d looked in that tub, so small and broken, like a baby bird that had fallen out of the nest. And I kept thinking about how much I loved you. That night was the first time I told you I loved you, Steve.”

“Oh,” said Steve, swallowing hard to quell the lump in his throat.

“And you woke up for just a moment. Said, ‘Love you, Buck,’ and started coughing again. I just… I broke down. Started sobbing. I think I must’ve cried for hours, Stevie.”

“Aw, Buck,” Steve murmured, turning around to embrace him. 

“But your fever broke the next morning. And I had no clue if you remembered any of it, and clearly you didn’t, but I always kind of wondered…”

“I did love you though, Bucky. I couldn’t ever say it, but I did.” Steve leaned in to kiss him. 

“I don’t deserve to be this lucky,” murmured Bucky as their lips parted.

“Sure you do,” said Steve, reaching down and taking Bucky’s cock in his hand. He gave it a few gentle strokes, feeling it grow hard in his palm. Bucky leaned into him, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, his breath coming in increasingly rough gasps of pleasure. A couple minutes later, Bucky let out a shuddering little cry of ecstasy, releasing himself onto Steve’s belly. 

“Well, it looks like you need to clean my front, now,” Steve said with a smirk. 

Bucky caught his breath for a moment, then replied, “Yeah, guess I’d better.” A devilish grin flashed in his eyes, and he slowly sank to his knees, water streaming through his hair and trickling down his face. 

As he felt Bucky’s mouth taking him in, Steve decided that he could definitely get used to hot showers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this chapter I just knew I wanted to delve into Bucky's feelings about the star on his arm/establish that he was no longer stinky... but I just couldn't resist getting into pre-war Stucky feels, so here we are.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my most riveting update, I know... it's mostly set-up for what's coming next. But hopefully y'all enjoy a little Breakfast Bucky fluff!

The next morning, Steve awoke to an empty bed, but the smell of bacon, accompanied by the faint sounds of Bucky rustling around in the kitchen, set him at ease. He sat up groggily, scratching his stomach. Bucky must’ve got up quietly, because he hadn’t even stirred since they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Steve swung his legs off the bed and grabbed a pair of boxers and a white undershirt out of his dresser, and strolled over to the kitchen. 

“Hey, Buck,” he said, his words still a little slurred from sleep, embracing him from behind, his hands around Bucky’s waist.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” said Bucky. “I figured I’d treat you to breakfast in bed, but it looks like I was too slow.”

“Sorry,” Steve said sheepishly. He looked at the stove. Bacon sizzled in one pan, and Bucky was scrambling eggs in another. The toaster popped up two slices of toast. 

“Doesn’t matter,” said Bucky. “Looks like everything is just about ready.”

“Mm,” Steve agreed. “And you got the bacon good and crispy, just how I like it.”

“Some things I just _can’t_ forget,” Bucky joked. He laid out a paper towel on a plate and plucked the bacon straight from the pan with his left hand. “Bionic arms have so many uses… punching… breaking things… cooking…”

“You’re too much sometimes, Bucky,” said Steve, shaking his head as he laughed. 

As Bucky rummaged around the kitchen, buttering their toast and plating their food, Steve marveled at how _normal_ this felt. Sure, they’d lived together before, but everything was different now. Before, Bucky had always been Steve’s protector – somewhere between a best friend and a nurse. But now, Steve felt like he was Bucky’s protector. Not that he needed it, entirely – God knows Bucky had always been tough as nails. But despite his progress, and despite his strength that never seemed to waiver no matter how much the world tried to break him down, Steve knew that the horrors of his lost decades as the Winter Soldier still haunted him. They always would. 

Steve remembered something Sam had said about working at the VA. “These guys,” he’d said, talking about the soldiers who’d lost their friends in war, “They’re dealing with tremendous guilt. They’re asking themselves, ‘Why did I get to live when he had to die?’ And it’s not like I can give them any answers for that. There _aren’t_ any answers for that. But what I _can_ do is try to give them some purpose in their lives. You can’t ever get rid of the guilt. You can’t ever forget the pain. But you can find reasons to keep on living, and ways to feel like your continued existence on this earth has some sort of value.” At the time, Steve’s mind had flown to the train, Bucky falling away from his fingertips. Now, he thought about Bucky’s “missions,” the atrocities his hands had carried out without the permission of his mind. How impossibly heavy was the weight of his guilt? And what could Steve do to help him find his way, to help him see how his life could make the world better, after his enslavement by HYDRA had done so much to make the world worse? 

“Earth to Steve,” said Bucky, “Breakfast is ready!”

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” said Steve. 

“’Bout what?” asked Bucky. 

“Nothing in particular. Breakfast looks amazing, Buck.”

They sat down at Steve’s little table, digging into their mountains of eggs and stacks of crisp bacon, occasionally crunching on toast. “How is everything?” asked Bucky. 

“Delicious, as always. You’ve always been a good cook, you know that.”

“I’m a little out of practice,” said Bucky. 

They continued to eat in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, until soon their plates were clean. Bucky stood up, clearing away their dishes, and set to work on cleaning the kitchen. Steve, feeling guilty about Bucky doing all the work, leaned against the doorway, looking for ways to help. 

“Don’t worry about it, Stevie. I got this. Consider this my thank-you for your rescue attempt.”

“You’re the one who did the actual rescuing,” sighed Steve.

“Even Captain America gets to be the damsel in distress sometimes,” Bucky replied, giving Steve a teasing grin. Steve just blushed. “By the way, Steve, I’ve been thinking…”

“What?”

“Well, it’s my arm. The star, specifically. I think it’s time for a change. I want something that will remind me of where I’ve come from, but I think it’s important that I… you know… I show the world that I’m not _him_ any more. I don’t wanna shirk the responsibility for what I’ve done. I know how terrible my sins are, Steve. But I figure if I’m gonna be kicking around, I ought to do it for something _good_.”

Steve smiled. “I think that’s great, Buck. What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know just yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of something.”


	20. Chapter 20

_I should probably tell Tony_ , Steve thought. He’d been putting it off for as long as possible, but he figured that it was about time to finally mention that Bucky was back in the States. Maybe, just maybe, if that particular admission went well, he’d mention the nature of their relationship. However, he didn’t expect it to go well. He and Tony had spoken a little since their fight in Siberia, and Steve was pretty sure his letter had smoothed things over a bit between the two of them. But when all was said and done, he and Tony had never had a completely conflict-free relationship, and what happened in Siberia had dramatically widened the rift between them. Despite that, though, they were still both Avengers. They needed to be on the same team. Tony could be egotistical, arrogant, and reckless, but he still deserved to know about Bucky being back – unless, of course, he decided to come looking for some sort of misguided retribution. 

_Can we talk soon?_ Steve texted Tony.

_Sure. Meet me at Avengers Tower tomorrow at 11:00?_ Tony replied several minutes later. 

_I’ll be there_ , Steve replied.

It wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, but he knew it was a necessary one. Steve knew he’d made mistakes too – Tony should’ve known about Bucky’s role in the death of his parents long before that fateful meeting in Siberia. He’d seen it in the files – the Starks were two of the Winter Soldier’s numerous victims. But somehow, he just hadn’t been able to tell Tony about what he’d learned. There was no easy way to say it. He’d been waiting for the right moment – at least, that’s what he’d been telling himself – and it hadn’t come. At least, not before Zemo lured them all to Siberia. And yes, maybe he’d lied for a moment, said that he didn’t know it was Bucky – but he knew how Tony could get. And it was _Bucky_. He’d been trying to keep him safe, trying to keep Tony from flying off the handle. Not that his lie had helped, obviously… _And look, you’re still lying to yourself. You didn’t tell him because you were a coward._

His inner monologue was right, he knew. Howard Stark had been his friend, and even Tony had been… well, they were never quite _friends_ , but they were certainly more than just colleagues. He’d been afraid to tell the truth, and it had come back to bite him. But now, it was time to come clean.

* * * 

Curled against each other in bed that night, Steve murmured in Bucky’s ear, “I need to tell Tony that you’re around.”

“Oh,” said Bucky, his body tensing against Steve’s.

“He deserves to know, Buck.”

“He’s an asshole. He almost killed you,” Bucky hissed.

“He’s… I’ll admit he’s not my favorite person, but if I want the Avengers to survive, I need Iron Man to think I’m at least sort of trustworthy. And they were his parents, so it’s not as though I completely blame him for acting irrationally.”

“It’s not that he was trying to hurt me, you know. I don’t blame him. I murdered his parents—”

“It wasn’t you. HYDRA did that. Not you.”

“You saw the video, Steve. It was me. Whether it was my choice or not, it was still my hands that killed them. But the way he hit you… and when he said you didn’t deserve your shield… he’s still an asshole.”

Steve sighed. Bucky could be remarkably hard-headed at times. Clearly, this was one of those times. “Be that as it may, Buck, he still deserves to know. And you deserve the chance to prove yourself to him.”

“I don’t deserve any such thing,” said Bucky, rolling away from Steve.

“You _do_ ,” said Steve, reaching out for Bucky in the darkness. “You aren’t evil, Buck. You know that. And you know me – do you think I could love someone who’s a bad person? You’re the best person I know, and Tony will see that eventually. He can be arrogant and hot-headed, but he’s not without his good qualities. I’ll get him to come around eventually. I promise.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, but when Steve wrapped his arms around him, he wriggled himself just a little bit closer into the embrace.

* * *

Steve arrived in Tony’s office, dressed in a navy blue suit, a file folder in his hands. Truth be told, Steve always felt out-of-place in formal civilian clothing – it wasn’t quite a uniform, but it seemed to serve some of the same purposes. Growing up, he’d never had “nice” clothes, and he’d gone straight from ragged old threads, to an army uniform, to his Captain America suit. Suit-and-tie attire still felt alien to him. But, he supposed, he wasn’t meeting Tony so he could feel comfortable. He was there to apologize, to confess, and to attempt to make a decent impression. Tony was impressed by nice suits, so Steve figured he should suck it up and wear one. 

“Rogers,” said Tony, sitting at his desk. “It’s been a while. Care to take a seat?” he asked, gesturing at the chair opposite him.

“Certainly, thank you,” said Steve. Despite himself, nervousness bubbled in the pit of his stomach.

“So, to what occasion do I owe this visit?” asked Tony, his fingers steepled in front of him.

“Well, I… I have something going on that you need to know about.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, silently urging Steve to continue.

“Well, uh… it’s about Bucky. He’s living with me in D.C. right now. He went through deprogramming in Wakanda, and he’s had one little slip-up, but he’s better now.”

“Oh, one little slip-up?” said Tony, his voice mocking. “And how many people _died_ when he ‘slipped up,’ huh?”

“For the record, none. He’s much, much better now. I promise.”

“He tried to shoot me point-blank in the face last time he was triggered. He killed my _parents_ , Rogers. I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen!”

“Neither can he. But he never asked for any of this. I know him, Tony. He’s a good person, okay? And he’s trying to be better.”

“He’s dangerous. Why can’t you see that?!” Steve flinched back as Tony yelled.

“Look. I get that the Winter Soldier did horrible things to your family. But that wasn’t Bucky. He’s not the fist of HYDRA any more. He wants to atone for what happened. Even though it’s not his fault, he still wants to show the world he’s sorry for the things he did. All I ask of you is to read this,” Steve slid the files across the desk to Tony, “It’s the Winter Soldier files. It explains pretty much everything. What they did to him, what they made him do… please just read it. He’s a victim here too,” Steve said, with more defensiveness in his voice than he’d intended to show.

“He’s alive. The real victims here _aren’t_.”

“He was brainwashed. They took away his free will.”

“Yeah. He’s a ticking time bomb. How long until he gets triggered again? Do you really think that he isn’t capable of causing more violence?” said Tony.

“I told you, he’s been deprogrammed. He had one relapse and lost his memories, but when we went searching for him – well, it’s a long story, but we learned that he’s desensitized to his trigger phrase now.”

“I still don’t think I can forgive him for it,” said Tony. The hard edge of anger in his eyes had loosened into something far sadder. Steve felt a surge of empathy. They might not be best friends, sure, but in the end, Tony Stark was still just a guy who’d lost his parents.

“I’m not asking you to. And _he’s_ not asking you to, either. I just want you to read the files. I made a mistake when I didn’t tell you everything I knew about how your parents died. I was a coward, Tony. I’m not looking for forgiveness either, but I do want to say I’m sorry. I think you deserve to know about what HYDRA did to your family, and what they did to Bucky. I’m not going to tell you what to think. You’re a smart guy, Tony. You can come to your own conclusions. But I believe that once all the facts are on the table… well, please just let me know what you think after you read the files.” 

Tony crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll read them. But I can’t promise I’ll change my mind.”

Steve sighed in relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.” He stood up and began to leave the room.

“Goodbye, Rogers,” said Tony.

“Goodbye, and thank you,” said Steve. He walked out of the room. _Well, that went better than I anticipated_ , he thought.


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning, Steve and Bucky headed down to the National Mall to meet Sam for a morning run. Steve and Sam usually did a weekly run together (or more accurately, a run in which Steve repeatedly lapped Sam, while Sam yelled his frustrations after each “On your left!”), and this time, Steve figured Bucky should join them. 

Initially, Bucky had been reluctant to run with them – he and Sam did have a tendency to bicker, and he was still a little flighty about appearing in public. But Steve convinced him to join, providing him with a baggy athletic sweatshirt and a pair of gloves to conceal his arm. As Steve drove them into the heart of the city, he glanced over at Bucky as he sleepily rode in the passenger seat. He was wearing Steve’s baggy sweatshirt and a matching pair of sweats, and the outfit reminded him of a movie Nat had made him watch ( _The one about the boxer. What was it called? It was set in Philadelphia... Oh yeah, Rocky._ ) Bucky had shaved the night before, and his hair was pulled back from his face into a little bun. Despite his modern clothes and his longer hair, for a moment he looked almost as he had back before the war. Steve smiled a little to himself. Bucky would blush if he told him, but he looked downright _cute_.

Sam was waiting for them when they arrived. “I feel like if I get here first, I should win automatically,” he said to them. 

“That seems fair,” Steve agreed with a grin. “Ready to run?”

“Yep,” said Sam. Bucky simply nodded. The three of them took off. Steve was by far the fastest, with Bucky taking second place. Sam trailed behind them. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouted after them.

They raced each other down the path, holding their respective positions. Steve tried to focus on the action of running, of the wind in his hair and the sensation of his feet hitting pavement, arms pumping in unison with the motion of his legs, but his mind kept drifting back to Tony, wondering what he was thinking. Finally, as the sun began to creep its way up into the sky, they came to rest.

“You didn’t tell me he was fast, too,” Sam said breathlessly, pointing at Bucky. Bucky was standing a short ways away in the lawn, stretching.

“He’s not quite a super-soldier, but he’s got some advantages,” said Steve. “Don’t you think he looks like Rocky in those sweats, Sam?” 

Sam squinted at Bucky. “More like the Russian Rocky fights, maybe…”

“Rocky fights a Russian? But Apollo Creed isn’t Russian…” Steve said, confused.

“Oh, there’s a bunch of _Rocky_ movies. Did Nat not tell you? He fights the Russian in _Rocky IV_. And he also has a robot butler…” Steve gave him a blank look as he trailed off. “Oh, forget it.”

“Sorry. Nat didn’t tell me there were more _Rocky_ movies other than the first two.”

“Eh, you’re not missing that much. The first one is the best, by far,” said Sam, smiling at Steve. “So… how are you two?”

“Great,” said Steve, blushing a little. “He’s doing really well, I think. But I… well, I told Tony about him yesterday.”

“What did you tell him?” Sam asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Just that he’s around. And I let him see the Winter Soldier files. I figured he deserves to know about his parents. And I also figured that if he can see for himself what HYDRA did to Bucky… well, maybe he’ll come around,” said Steve.

“It’s Tony, so who knows? Did you tell him that you two are, you know…?”

“No,” said Steve, blushing.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry I’m being so awkward about this. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just never figured you were… you know.”

“That I didn’t only like women?” Steve replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t assume, I know. But I guess I did. I’m sorry,” said Sam, clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Don’t be,” said Steve. “I didn’t really acknowledge it myself until… well, until Bucky came back.”

“I don’t blame you, man. I hear that stuff is hard to figure out, even if you haven’t spent a few decades on ice.”

Bucky, finished with his stretches, walked back over, putting his hand against the small of Steve’s back in a quietly protective gesture. 

“You’re pretty damn fast,” Sam said to Bucky, his voice tinged with grudging admiration.

“Thanks,” said Bucky. 

“You know, I was thinking maybe we could get something to eat together. Maybe Nat would like to join?” Steve suggested.

“I’m starving, so I’m definitely in,” said Sam. 

Bucky just looked up at Steve with a small smile. “I’ll call Natasha,” said Steve.

* * *

They found themselves in a booth at a greasy-spoon diner with 24-hour breakfast, as per Bucky’s request. 

“All the restaurants in D.C., and you pick this place?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I really like pancakes,” Bucky said, trying to glower menacingly. Unfortunately for him, it was hard to appear menacing while talking about pancakes. 

Natasha stifled a giggle. “It’s okay, I love breakfast food, too,” she said, attempting to sound supportive despite her laughter.

“Shut up. Pancakes are good,” said Bucky, scowling and sipping his coffee. 

“I agree, Buck. And breakfast is the best meal of the day, especially when you make it,” Steve said, smiling at Bucky and giving him a shy kiss on the cheek. _That’s the first time we’ve shown affection in public_ , Steve realized, and he immediately turned bright red. Even Bucky, who generally kept his emotional cards closer to his chest, developed a flush in his cheeks. 

“Aww,” said Nat, grinning.

“If you got any cheesier, you’d be an omelette,” said Sam, shaking his head, but smiling despite himself. 

Their food arrived, and Bucky immediately set to work on his pancakes. Steve looked over at him, watching him drizzle maple syrup onto his post-run breakfast. Despite his anxiety about Tony’s response, Steve felt genuinely happy. Bucky had come a long way from the lost, disoriented, and falsely accused man he’d found in Bucharest during the Sokovia Accords incident. He looked almost comfortable now, chewing on pancakes, a few strands of hair hanging loose from his bun around his face, set free by the wind as they’d ran. He was beautiful, and somehow, he was _his_.

Bucky, in between bites of delicious, fluffy pancake, snuck glances at Steve as well. It was hard to believe that now he was here, in D.C., with _friends_ , and with the love of his life, enjoying breakfast together. Steve thought he was being sneaky, stealing glances at Bucky, but he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he believed himself to be. Bucky felt impossibly lucky. He actually had _Steve_ , finally, after so many years. ( _How many times had he fantasized about a scene like this on all his dates back in the day? All the pretty dames in the world had never even piqued his interest, let alone set his heart alight the way Steve always did._ ) He’d spent a lot of time wondering if he even deserved comfort, if he even deserved love… but despite never finding an answer, here he was. Now that he had something so good – a belly full of pancakes, the companionship of friends, the love of Steve Rogers – he felt determined to earn it, somehow. He didn’t know what that could possibly entail, but whatever it might take, he was going to find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't already know, yes, Bucky's passion for pancakes is [100% canon](http://65.media.tumblr.com/99077ead8268438eb1e237f7689c8703/tumblr_inline_n8iydz79lx1qmpx83.jpg) (from _Winter Soldier #1_ ).


	22. Chapter 22

That night, Steve lay in bed beside Bucky. He could tell from the soft, slow breathing that he was soundly asleep. The nightmares didn’t plague Bucky every night anymore, although they still happened often enough. Perhaps this was going to be one of his peaceful nights. Steve hoped so. At least one of them might get some sleep, that way. He couldn’t stop watching his phone as it rested on the bedside table, wondering when Tony would ever respond. _If_ he would ever respond. 

Steve lay there for hours, watching the numbers on the digital clock as time slipped by. Just as his mind began to drift out of consciousness, his phone buzzed and glowed, the light blindingly bright in the darkness of the bedroom. Steve fumbled for it, squinting to read the text.

It was from Tony. _Are you awake? I’d like to talk._

_Yes. Where?_

_Meet me on the roof of your building in ten minutes._

_I’ll be there._ Steve quietly slipped out of bed, tucking Bucky back in and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He quickly wrote a note and propped it on the bedside table, **I went out for a little bit, be right back. I promise.**

Steve crept up the fire escape to the roof. Sure enough, Tony was there already, in his Iron Man suit. 

“Why here?” asked Steve.

“It was easy enough. I was already flying around, just thinking about things,” said Tony.

“Oh. Alright.”

“I read the files,” said Tony, his voice betraying no emotion.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry for what I said. About Bucky not being a victim.”

Steve stood speechlessly. 

“I know. I’m not much for apologies. Believe it, this moment is _profoundly_ uncomfortable for me. But _Jesus_ , Steve, the stuff in those files… it’s a wonder he’s not a vegetable after all the things HYDRA did to him.”

Steve nodded, unsure of what to say.

“But even though he wasn’t culpable for his actions, he’s still a liability. I know you care about him. I know he’s your best friend. But it’s clouding your judgment. We can’t just assume he’s cured. There could be things lurking in his brain we don’t even know about.”

“What are you saying, Tony?” Steve asked, his defensiveness returning.

“Look, Steve. I know you have every reason not to trust me, just like I had every reason not to trust you. You lied to me about my parents, I ripped Bucky’s arm off – I get it. I know there’s no way we’re just gonna suddenly be best friends. But _please_ , trust me when I say that I want to help. And I believe I can.”

Steve squinted. “How?” he asked skeptically.

“I _may_ have done a little snooping earlier. Made a few calls, you know... And T’Challa’s guys are _good_ , but they could be even better with the help of a little Stark tech. So we talked, and… well, I think I’ve come up with a way to fix Bucky’s brain. For good, Steve.”

“Care to elaborate on your genius plan?” Steve said, crossing his arms. He didn’t like where this was going, necessarily, but he figured he ought to hear Tony out, especially after his apology. 

“Well, I’ve been working on some neural mapping. Trying to understand Vision, trying to figure out how Wanda does… you know, the stuff she does. I can create a complete map of anyone’s mind, figure out how everything’s connected. F.R.I.D.A.Y. parses it all out. I think that with the help of T’Challa’s scientists, we can use the map of Bucky’s brain to figure out precisely how to HYDRA triggers work, and undo them. We just have to figure out which neural connections are HYDRA implants, and then break them,” Tony said, sounding concerningly self-assured.

“I don’t know, Tony… That sounds dangerous.”

“How so?”

“Well, what if you don’t get it right? What if you hurt Bucky’s brain?” said Steve, trying in vain to not raise his voice.

“We wouldn’t. I’d have the best neurologists in the world working with me. We’d fix him,” Tony assured.

“Just like how Ultron was going to protect the world?” asked Steve, immediately regretting his words.

“It’s _nothing_ like that! Yes, there are some small risks. But I’m offering to save your friend, Steve. This is an olive branch. Are you gonna take it, or leave it?”

“I don’t know, Tony. And he’s more than my _friend_ ,” Steve replied, clenching his fists. 

“Well… whatever he is to you, I’m giving him a chance. I’ll let you think about it, okay?” Tony said. He fired up his suit, and began to hover. “Goodnight.” With a burst, he shot up into the night sky.

Steve looked up after him, his heart hammering in his chest. _What’s the right call, here? And how could I even know what it would be?_

* * * 

Steve crept back in through the living room window. When he heard the sound of crying coming from the bedroom, he rushed in. Bucky was curled in a ball, his body wrapped around a pillow, sheets strewn across the room. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Steve murmured, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m here. It’s okay. I promise.”

“ _Where were you?_ ” Bucky sobbed, his voice thick with tears. 

“I was just outside for a minute. I was… I was talking to Tony.”

“I dreamed…” Bucky’s voice broke. Steve looked down at him. For all his strength, all his power, he looked as small and helpless as a lost kitten. 

“What did you dream, Buck?” Steve asked gently, brushing his hair off his tear-streaked face.

“I dreamed that I finished my mission during the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Watched you sink into the Potomac. Watched you bleeding out, leaving a big red cloud in the river. I _remembered_ you, but I couldn’t move, they wouldn’t let me… it was like I was paralyzed, and I watched you _die_ , I watched myself kill you and I couldn’t do anything to stop it…”

“It’s okay, Buck. It was just a dream.”

“Stevie… it was more than a dream. It was another reality that almost happened. I’m so scared, Steve. I’m not sure I’ll always be strong enough to fight back. If bad people come… men in white coats… what if they find me…”

“Buck. Shh. You’re not making sense,” said Steve, stroking his hair. 

“I just wanna know. I just wanna know I’m not another fucking tragedy about to happen. I’d do anything, Stevie. _Anything_. I gotta keep the world safe from me.”

Steve swallowed. It had never been his decision, really. It had to be Bucky’s. “Well, Buck… Tony might be able to help you. He might be able to get HYDRA out of your brain for good.”

“He could do that?” asked Bucky, his voice shaking.

“He says he can. It’s experimental, though. I don’t want you to take any unnecessary risks, Buck.”

“Stevie… if there’s even a _chance_ , I gotta take it. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

Steve sighed, and reached for his phone. _You need to talk to Bucky_ , he texted to Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky. :( 
> 
> But at least Tony's starting to come around!


	23. Chapter 23

Steve accompanied Bucky to the Avengers Tower. Despite his best efforts to appear stoic, Steve could tell that Bucky was nervous from the way his eyes darted back and forth across the room, scanning for threats, and the way his fists kept clenching. Steve gently took Bucky’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” he whispered as they stepped into the elevator. 

Bucky didn’t look up, but he gave a little squeeze to Steve’s hand in return. After what felt like minutes, the elevator finally dinged at the floor for Tony’s office. Hand in hand, they walked in.

Tony looked up from his desk, saw the two of them, and said, “Well, I think I understand what you were saying about him being more than a friend.”

Steve blushed, letting go of Bucky’s hand. “Tony, can you explain to Bucky what you told me last night?”

“Of course,” said Tony. “I’ve developed a way to map people’s brains. It was designed to understand how certain powered people work, but it can be used to simply map out the neural networks within a human brain. After some enlightening discussions with the Wakandan neurologists who made the initial attempt at deprogramming you, I believe that we can use this technology to figure out how HYDRA brainwashed you, and we can carefully target your triggers in order to undo them.”

“So if this works, nobody will ever be able to trigger me ever again?” asked Bucky.

“Correct. Of course, there are risks. The corrective procedure will be, in essence, a hyper-specific form of electroconvulsive therapy. It’s experimental, so we can’t say for sure how well it will work. And there’s a chance that you’ll suffer some side effects even if it works, such as temporary short-term memory loss,” said Tony.

“Understood. No matter the risks, whatever it takes – I don’t want to ever hurt anyone against my will ever again,” said Bucky, steeling his jaw. 

Steve swallowed. He knew it wasn’t his call to make, but the idea of Bucky subjecting himself to an experimental procedure made his stomach clench. “When would this procedure happen?” asked Steve.

“We could do it as soon as tomorrow morning. For safety reasons, we need him to abstain from food and beverages prior to the procedure.”

“Of course,” said Bucky. “Whatever it takes.”

“Great,” said Tony. “When I talked to T’Challa, he said he’d like to be present himself for the procedure. I’ll give him a call, and get him and the neurologists out here as soon as possible.” 

“Tony,” said Steve. “Are you sure about this?” 

“The human mind is complicated, of course. But now that we can really map it out… well, I’m as sure as anyone can be. I promise, I wouldn’t offer this if I wasn’t confident in the technology, and in the treatment,” said Tony. 

“Bucky… are you sure you want to do this?” asked Steve, reaching for his hand again.

“Yes. I’m sure,” Bucky replied. “It’s the only way. And…” he trailed off, making eye contact with Tony. He swallowed, and said, “I know there’s nothing I can say that will ever, ever be enough. But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tony didn’t say anything, but he pursed his lips and nodded slightly. 

“Well, we should be going,” said Steve. “Better get one last meal in today, right, Bucky?”

“See you tomorrow, 8:00am?” said Tony. 

“Of course,” said Bucky. “Thank you. I don’t deserve this.”

“Maybe none of us deserve anything,” said Tony, sighing. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Tony,” said Steve. He and Bucky turned and walked to the elevator. On the way down, Steve turned to Bucky. “I hope this is the right choice,” he said, squeezing Bucky’s hand just a little bit too tightly. 

“It’s the _only_ choice,” Bucky replied.

* * *

An hour later, the two of them were in a booth at a pancake house, as per Bucky’s request. Bucky thought Steve might be getting a little tired of pancakes, but he also knew Steve was feeling especially indulgent towards him that day, and he couldn’t help taking some small advantage of it. And anyway, pancakes were great. 

Steve sat across from him, absent-mindedly poking at his meal with his fork. Bucky felt bad that Steve was so concerned, but as far as he could see, there weren’t any options other than Tony’s targeted-mind-wiping plan. What happened in the psychologists’ office had been disastrous, and the events of the castle could have very easily taken a turn so horrible he didn’t even want to think about it. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t scared ( _the voice, “Then wipe him, and start over,” echoed in his head_ ), but he’d rather chance frying his brain than risk hurting anyone he cared about. 

Bucky took a bite of pancake and smiled across the table at Steve. ( _Gotta be strong for Stevie. Can’t let him see the fear. Can’t give him any reason to pull the plug on this._ ) Steve returned a weak smile. “How ya doing, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Great. These pancakes are even better than the other place’s!” 

“Yeah, these are pretty good, I have to admit. Buck, is there anything else you want to do today?”

“You,” Bucky replied with a smirk. Steve blushed bright-red. Despite his nerves, he could still find a great deal of enjoyment from teasing Steve. And, of course, from _doing_ Steve. He figured if he was going to undergo a procedure in the morning that might damage his memory, he might as well try to do something as memorable as possible the night before. 

* * *

“I know normally I’m the one topping _you_ , but I thought maybe tonight we could switch things up a bit,” said Bucky. Steve looked up at him with inquisitive eyes, letting Bucky’s cock slip out of his mouth. “What do ya say?”

“I, uh, sure,” said Steve, sounding anything but. “But I don’t know how. What if I hurt you?”

“Who knows… I might like it,” said Bucky, the eager twitch of his cock affirming his theory. Steve frowned a little, still looking concerned about hurting him. “It’ll be fun,” Bucky assured him. “And anyway, I’ll tell you _exactly_ how I like it. Don’t you wanna know what I feel like?” 

“I suppose I do,” said Steve, taking Bucky’s cock back into his mouth, moving in long, slow strokes that made Bucky gasp. 

“You’re getting too good at this,” said Bucky, gasping. 

“Am I now?” Steve asked as he lifted his mouth off Bucky, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Want you to give it to me, Steve.” He scrambled up onto his hands and knees on the bed, presenting his ass to Steve. “Start with a finger.” Steve nodded, slicking his finger with Vaseline. Tenderly, he massaged around the outside of Bucky with his fingertip, then ever-so-cautiously slid his finger inside of him. “Mmm, yeah. Now, one more.” Steve obeyed, slowly easing a second finger in. Bucky gasped, feeling Steve’s knuckles working against the tight ring of muscle, urging his body to yield to its desires. After a few minutes of teasing fingers, he moaned, “Okay, Stevie. I think I’m ready for you.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Buck.”

“You won’t. Just use lots of lubrication and go slow at first, and I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” said Steve. He slicked his cock thoroughly with Vaseline, carefully aligning it with Bucky’s ass. Slowly, tenderly, he pressed himself against Bucky, the tip of his cock easing in.

“Oh,” Bucky moaned. He’d never actually taken a cock before, and the feeling was mildly painful, but somehow he longed for _more_ , to feel Steve filling him, taking him. 

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” Steve asked, concerned. 

“I’m great. Keep going. _Please_ ,” Bucky replied. "Give me more of you, Stevie." Steve slowly pressed deeper into him. The discomfort was lessening, and his body was beginning to respond to Steve’s, his hips gently rolling back into each thrust. Bucky realized that he desperately wanted to see how much of Steve he could take. He willed his body to loosen, to accept more and more of Steve’s cock, until soon, his could feel Steve’s hips driving into his ass each time their motions collided. “Oh _fuck_ , Steve,” he moaned as Steve’s cock found the place inside him that sent fireworks of pleasure bursting through him. Now he understood why Steve was such a vocal lover – it was hard to hold back the gasps and moans when you were the one getting fucked.

“Oh, Buck, _language_ ,” Steve said, gasping the words out. “Oh, you feel amazing,” he moaned, the grip of his strong hands on Bucky’s hips tightening.

“Steve, I want you to come in me. I wanna feel you fill me up,” Bucky moaned as he reached down to take his own cock in his hand, holding himself up with just his metal arm. He couldn’t see Steve’s reaction from behind him, but he knew he was blushing uncontrollably. Apparently his dirty talk also garnered another reaction, because with a stuttering cry, Steve released himself into Bucky with one final, achingly deep thrust. The sensation, and Steve’s moaning, pushed Bucky over the edge, and he came into his hand, gasping and struggling to balance on three limbs as ecstasy threatened to knock him over. 

Steve flopped over on the bed. “Wow. I see why you like doing that so much,” he said to Bucky.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. I see why you like it when I do it to you, too.”

“I think I like it the other way, best. But I’m glad we did it this way tonight,” said Steve, pulling Bucky down for a kiss.

“I’m gonna go clean up, but then I’ll be right back,” said Bucky. “I’m pretty tired, and we have to get up early.”

“Yeah, we do,” said Steve, frowning. “You’re still sure about this whole thing with Tony?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Bucky. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. After cleaning himself up, he splashed a little water on his face, and looked up into the mirror. ( _It’s the only way. It’s scaring you because it reminds you of what they did to you, back then. But it’s the only way. You need to be strong. Better for you to suffer than for you to hurt Steve… or anyone else._ ) He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and let it out slowly. Even the warmth of post-coital contentment, and the pleasurable ache lingering in his ass from Steve's passionate thrusts, weren't enough to dull the hum of anxiety that caught in his throat and made his fingers tremble. ( _You need to be brave._ ) He turned and walked back to bed, and Steve. ( _Be brave for him._ )


	24. Chapter 24

When Steve and Bucky arrived at the Avengers Tower medical lab, T’Challa and a small army of Wakandan doctors were waiting for them alongside Tony. “Hello,” said T’Challa. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you personally,” said Steve, shaking T’Challa’s hand. “After Bucky’s relapse, I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Understood. Mr. Barnes, I am sorry that our initial treatment was not a complete success,” T’Challa said, turning to Bucky and taking his hand in both of his own. “I hope that with collaboration between Mr. Stark and my top neurology team, we can fix you permanently.”

“Thank you,” said Bucky. “And you did the best you could, before. It wasn’t your fault.”

“So, shall we begin?” said Tony, clapping his hands together. 

“Yes,” said Bucky, clenching his jaw. ( _Don’t let them see how badly this scares you._ )

“Begin to prep the patient,” said one of the neurologists. “Follow me, sir.” Bucky followed the doctor into a side room. “We will need you to remove your shirt and pants so we can attach monitors. You can keep your undergarments on.” Bucky nodded and stripped down to his underwear, shivering a little in the slightly-cold room. ( _Don’t think about the cold. Ignore it. You’re not in Siberia any more. They’re not putting you on ice. They may be wearing white coats, but these men aren’t evil. They’re trying to help you._ ) “No food or drink for at least twelve hours?” the doctor asked.

“No, nothing,” said Bucky. 

“Very good. We will attach the monitors and strap you into a device in the next room that will scan your brain. Once Mr. Stark’s A.I. finds the neural connections that HYDRA created to trigger you, we will administer a series of targeted electric impulses to disrupt those connections. Unfortunately, because we need to monitor how your brain is responding to the stimulus, you will need to be conscious for the procedure. I won’t mince words – it will be painful.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Bucky muttered grimly. ( _“Wipe him,” echoed over and over, men in white coats swarming, smell of hot metal and piss… No. This was different. This would guarantee that he’d never endure that torture ever again. So why did it feel so similar?_ )

“Well, then… shall we begin?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” said Bucky. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

They went into the next room. It was blank and white except for the black chair outfitted with a multitude of clamps and monitors, and a window that took up an entire wall. On the other side of the glass, Steve, Tony, and T’Challa looked on. Bucky made eye contact with Steve, and Steve rushed up to the window, pressing his hand against the glass. Bucky attempted to put on a reassuring smile, but he could tell from the strain in his cheeks that it was probably more of a grimace. He watched Steve mouth is name as he sat in the chair. ( _Don’t think about this. Don’t think about how many times you’ve sat in a chair just like this one._ ) Slowly, the various clamps and restraints lowered automatically with a pneumatic hiss, holding him in place. I don’t know if they’re doing this to protect me, or to protect themselves from me, he thought. Several of the doctors began to swarm around him, affixing little patches strung with wires to his chest, his arms, his legs, his temples. Finally, a metal cap lowered down onto his head. 

“This device will be the thing that scans your brain. You may feel a bit disoriented and confused. Test subjects described it as ‘taking a trip back through your memories.’”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Bucky replied through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, and one last thing.” The doctor slipped a mouth guard into Bucky’s mouth. 

“Mmmph,” Bucky muttered. ( _This isn’t HYDRA. It feels like HYDRA, but it’s not. Remember that._ ) He looked out at Steve, who was still pressed against the glass, tears in his eyes. Bucky tried to give him a brave look, but he knew that he looked like a frightened animal. 

“On the count of three,” said the lead doctor. “One… Two… Three…” 

A switch was flipped, and Bucky jolted against his restraints, crying out as what felt like a volt of electricity coursed through him. He felt his grip on reality slipping away, falling like how he was falling from the train. He looked up as the weightlessness of free-fall overtook him. Steve was a blur on the train, smaller and smaller as it hurtled through the Alps, and as he fell, it seemed that the mountains grew around him, swallowing him up like a… like sitting in their little apartment. Cold winter sunlight streaming in, he sat beside Steve in bed, his blond head propped against a pillow, the blankets pulled up to his neck. He was gently spoon-feeding Steve a bowl of broth, and each time Steve swallowed, his body convulsed into a fit of coughs, his whole body shaking, lungs rattling, rattling like… rattling like his metal wrist, fighting the restraints, as he screamed, Zola preparing to wipe his mind again. Blackness, blacker than death, and cold, cold like a void, like pure nothingness… like the nothingness he felt as he aimed the gun, squinted through the sight, pulled the trigger and watched the man collapse in a burst of blood, the panic distant through the sight, people swarming like frantic ants around his fallen target, and he _knew_ that he was a monster, but he felt nothing at all… nothing like what he felt as he killed the couple in the car with his bare hands, grabbed the briefcase and got back on the motorcycle, sped away, his heart a hollow space where emotions once sprouted, now desiccated and barren, the wind whistling against his ears as he drove… whistling like the air around him, falling, falling, until an outcropping of rock shot up to meet him, left arm connecting with jagged stone, and suddenly there was blood everywhere, so much blood, where was it coming from, and he hit the snowy ground and nothingness swallowed him… 

His eyes shot open as he gasped back into the present. The doctors swarmed around in their white coats, jotting down notes on clipboards. He looked out through the window, his vision blurry. Steve stood against the glass, biting his knuckles. Bucky willed his mouth into a small smile, and Steve pressed his hands and forehead to the glass. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is analyzing your neural networks,” said the lead doctor. “We are almost ready for the second part of the procedure.”

Bucky tried to nod, but the restraints held his head in place. The mouth guard was digging into his gums painfully, but it was a sensation he was used to. ( _“Wipe him, and start over,” echoed through his head._ ) He tried to focus on Steve, on the promise of finally being free from HYDRA’s grasp. If this worked… well, the nightmares probably wouldn’t go away, but at least they’d only feel like bad dreams, not prophesies. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fully trusted his own mind. After all, it hadn’t truly been his own since the 1940s. He looked out at Steve, his palms still pressed against the glass, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Whatever it was they were going to do to his brain, it was worth it. Anything to keep his Stevie safe.

“We have our targets. Time for the second phase of the procedure,” said the lead neurologist, and everyone in the room began scrambling into place. “Now remember, Mr. Barnes… this will hurt.”

Bucky couldn’t respond, his body in restraints and his tongue held down by the mouth guard. He looked up at Steve, his heart hammering in his throat. ( _Ignore the white coats, ignore the way your arms are strapped down, ignore it all, focus on him instead, focus on Steve…_ ) 

“Once again, on the count of three. Three… two… one…” 

Bucky let out a muffled scream. The pain radiated down from his head, searing, his limbs thrashing against the straps and cuffs of the chair. It felt like an electric shock and a burn all at once, his muscles convulsing. His eyes couldn’t focus against the agony, the room turning into a blur, Steve’s face swirling into featurelessness. There was a deafening rush in his ears as he felt his senses sucking away from him like a wave slipping back to sea, blinding whiteness filling his vision. Then, nothingness.

* * *

“Bucky. Buck.” His eyes fluttered open. Above him, a blank white ceiling, and Steve’s face, shifting in and out of focus, looking down at him, creased with concern. He was in a hospital gown, in a hospital bed, monitors beeping around him. The room spun stutteringly, like the sensation of getting off a particularly dizzying carnival ride. “It worked, Buck. They tell me you’re gonna feel a bit weird for the next day or so, but you’re okay.”

Bucky groaned. Even looking around the room was a near-insurmountable effort. He felt Steve’s fingers smoothing over his forehead, gently stroking his hair. Bucky turned his head slightly, leaning into Steve’s touch. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the effort, he haltingly mumbled, “Glad… everyone’s safe… from me…” His eyelids were unbearably heavy, and as he succumbed to the whirling darkness of exhausted sleep, he felt Steve’s lips press his forehead.


	25. Chapter 25

Steve walked back and forth across the recovery room, worrying his hands together.

“If you don’t stop pacing, you’re going to wear down my new tile,” Tony said, gesturing at the floor. “Take it easy. Everything went smoothly, and he’s doing fine.”

“I know,” Steve said with a sigh. “I just… I’m still worried.”

“I get it. He’s… important to you. I gotta know, though – how long has he been important in _that_ way?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

Steve looked away, blushing. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it until after Wakanda, but I guess he always was. Even though neither of us could ever say it.”

Tony nodded. “Alright. I was worried you’d been keeping your boyfriend a secret from me. And that would just hurt my feelings, Steve!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s not my—”

“Boyfriend?” interrupted Tony. “ _Really._ ”

“I mean,” said Steve, stuttering a bit as he spoke. “I don’t know. Maybe. We’ve never called each other that. I just know that I love him, Tony. I love him so much.” He swallowed back tears as he looked down at Bucky’s sleeping face. His dark hair fell messily across the pillow, his lips parted slightly, cheeks pale from the pain of his procedure.

Tony gently put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, catching him by surprise. “It doesn’t matter. What you call each other, that’s not important. But it’s clear that you love each other a whole lot. I know I don’t have much of a reputation as a romantic, but I think that if two people really care about each other, then they deserve an opportunity for things to work out for them. Sometimes it still doesn’t work, but if you’ve managed to overcome all the things you two have… well, I think you have a fighting chance.”

“Thank you, Tony,” said Steve. “I guess I didn’t expect you to help so much. After Siberia... I don’t think I deserve it.”

“I’m still angry that you hid the truth from me for so long. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to completely forgive that. I can put myself in your shoes and see why you rationalized it – probably thought, ‘Oh, it would hurt Tony to know the truth, and he’d probably blame Bucky even though it wasn’t really his fault,’ but that doesn’t take away the fact that you lied to me,” said Tony.

“I know,” said Steve. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

“We all make mistakes, Steve. Even _you_ , Mr. Perfect. I’ve made mistakes that cost lives. I can never forgive myself for that. I don’t think I _deserve_ forgiveness. If we reserve our help for the blameless, for those who deserve it, I don’t think we’d ever help anyone. That’s why I was willing to help you and Bucky. My father – he wanted to make the world better. Not just for the saints, but for the sinners, too. Bucky killed him, but I think if he knew about everything – the HYDRA brainwashing and all that – he would’ve tried to heal him. This is the best way I can honor my parents. As much as my father and I may have had issues… I still want to do right by his memory.”

“I don’t give you enough credit sometimes. I’m sorry for that, too,” said Steve.

“I know I have a reputation for being a bit of a prick. But I promise you that there’s more to me than that.”

Steve smiled at Tony, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “I won’t forget that. And I won’t forget this,” he said, looking down at Bucky. 

Tony nodded and walked out of the recovery room, leaving Steve and Bucky alone. Steve sat in the chair beside the head of Bucky’s bed, listening to the beep of monitors and the soft sighs of Bucky’s breath. He thought about what Tony had said – _I think you two have a fighting chance_ – and about what T’Challa had said back in Wakanda – _that might be what you could call fate, or destiny_. As he took Bucky’s limp hand in his own, he wondered what else the universe might throw at them. Whatever it might be, he knew that they could face it. He would let nothing and no one tear them apart. 

* * *

Bucky heard the soft murmur of whispering voices, the sound slowly pulling him up from the depths of dreamless sleep. “…He’s still sleeping,” he heard Steve say. He squinted his eyes open, but the light in the room was painfully bright, so he closed them again. 

“Hey,” he whispered, his mouth paper-dry. “I’m awake now.”

“Bucky!” he heard Steve say excitedly, feeling strong hands grabbing his own. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” he replied. “Who’s here? The light’s too bright.”

Bucky heard a click, and the light filtering through his eyelids grew dimmer. “It’s just Natasha and Sam,” said Steve. “They wanted to see how you were doing.”

He opened his eyes again. The overhead lights were off, and only the soft glow of a table light illuminated the room. Steve stood over him, Natasha and Sam hanging back at a respectful distance. Steve rested his hand gently on Bucky’s head, smoothing his hair. Natasha grinned at him, and Sam gave him a nod.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” said Sam.

“I brought food if you want any,” said Natasha. “Chinese, this time!”

“I’m starving,” Bucky replied, realizing how hungry he was as he spoke. He hadn’t eaten since pancakes the day before. “What time is it?” he asked, realizing he didn’t know.

“Almost eight at night, Buck. You’ve been asleep for hours,” said Steve.

“Still feel like shit, though,” Bucky muttered.

“Hey, watch it. He doesn’t appreciate that kind of language,” Sam teased. 

Natasha busied herself with arranging a selection of takeout boxes on the table beside Bucky. “Okay, so this box is the General Tso’s chicken, this one is Szechuan beef, this one is sweet and sour pork, this one is just rice, and the one over here is spring rolls,” she said, pointing at each box. She pulled paper plates out of the takeout bag and handed one to each of them. “Dig in,” she commanded. 

Bucky piled his plate with steaming hot food, and the rest of them followed suit. “Mind if I join you on the bed?” asked Steve, and Bucky just patted the spot beside him, scooting over to let Steve sit next to him on the narrow bed. Nat sat on the foot of the bed, and Sam took the chair. Bucky began to dig in to his meal, devouring it voraciously. In his haste, he kept dropping rice onto his hospital gown, but Steve gently picked the fallen grains off him. It was a small thing, sure, but something about the moment – Steve looking after him, plenty of hot and delicious food, being surrounded by friends ( _how many decades had he spent without a single friend?_ ) – put a warm glow in his chest. He’d spent years viewing his life as little more than a montage of suffering – endless defrosting, missions, debriefings, back to the ice. Over and over and over. Life had felt like a hollow and pointless thing, numb existence and nothing more. But now, in this moment, he knew that life could be beautiful, too. Even in a hospital bed, life could still be indescribably beautiful. 

A happy tear trickled down his cheek. “You okay, Bucky?” asked Natasha.

“Yeah. Just a little emotional I guess,” said Bucky.

“The doctors told me that’s to be expected,” said Steve, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“Yeah. I’m better than okay,” said Bucky, another tear rolling down his cheek. He leaned up to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Way better than okay.”


	26. Chapter 26

Bucky grew tired again after a couple hours. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m too tired to stay awake. Thank you for visiting me, though. It… it means a lot.”

“Of course,” said Natasha.

“I’ll take every chance I can get to give you a hard time,” teased Sam, “But seriously – I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m going to say goodnight to them, okay?” said Steve. “I’ll be back soon.”

Bucky yawned. “Goodnight,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Goodnight,” they all echoed, and walked out of the room. Steve gently clicked the door shut, peering in through the window at Bucky’s face, already slackening with sleep, then turned to Natasha and Sam. 

“Seems like he’s doing pretty well,” said Sam.

“He is,” said Steve. “I just… well, I don’t know what’s next for him.”

“I think you may want to talk to Tony about that,” Natasha said in a hinting tone.

“Oh?” asked Steve. He turned as the sound of approaching footsteps clacked down the hall. 

“Hey,” said Tony. “Is Natasha spilling the beans?”

“What beans?” asked Steve.

“Oh, ‘spilling the beans’ is just a saying for when someone—”

“I know what ‘spilling the beans’ means. I’m not _that_ old. What’s the big secret, Tony?” Steve asked. 

“Sorry, sorry. Here’s the deal. I know that the Avengers aren’t exactly an official organization right now. But given the pattern of recent history, I doubt it’ll be that long before the world needs Avenging again. Bucky’s got a dark past, certainly—”

“But so do I,” added Natasha.

“—And I think his skills could be an asset to the team,” continued Tony. “You know, in the event of an alien invasion, or an A.I. uprising, or whatever the next potentially-apocalyptic crisis is.”

“You want Bucky on the team? But there _isn’t_ a team any more, thanks to the Accords,” said Steve.

“Obviously, the Avengers are officially defunct. But here we are in Avengers Tower. I know we may have some ideological differences, but I’m a pragmatist. If the world needs us, I don’t think anyone is going to give a damn about where each of us fell in the Sokovia Accords debate. And we can talk until we’re blue in the face about whether or not powered people are responsible for the rise in powered threats, but when it comes down to it, if we need to fight for our world, we’re the ones they’ll call. 

“And about Bucky. Like I said – I haven’t forgiven him for what he did. Even if it wasn’t his fault, I can’t… I mean, _Jesus_ , Steve, Zemo showed me a video of him killing my mom and dad. Even if he wasn’t responsible, I can’t ever forget that. But I can set aside my personal resentments sometimes. I know you probably have a hard time believing that, but I can. And I know that rationally, Bucky deserves a chance. He might not be able to redeem himself to me, not completely – but maybe he can redeem himself to the world. I want to give him that chance. And I think that if the world needs us again, he should be an Avenger.”

Steve’s head whirled. He’d never imagined this. Bucky, an Avenger. At first, it seemed strange. But then, Steve’s mind drifted back to memories of the Howling Commandos. He’d always charged in, red-white-and-blue, shield leading the way, America’s own boy. And behind him, always watching his back, always ready to take the strategic shot, there was Bucky. The images in the newspapers always focused on Captain America, the man dashing headlong into danger, fearless against the Nazis – fearless thanks to his unwavering belief that good would triumph over evil. But Steve knew the truth. He ran fearlessly because he knew that Bucky was poised with a rifle behind him, ready to take out any enemies he failed to see. Steve may have been the face of America, but Bucky had been its spine. His name hadn’t made the headlines ( _Well, at least not until the UN bombing_ , Steve thought ruefully), but without him, Steve would have surely taken a Nazi bullet to the head decades ago. Bucky had earned his place as an Avenger before any of the other Avengers – excepting Thor, of course – had been born. 

“Steve? What do you say?” asked Tony.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking. The answer, if he wants it, is yes.”

“Good,” said Sam. “Like I said, any chance I get to tease him…”

“Oh, lay off it. I know you like him,” said Natasha.

“Shh. Don’t tell,” Sam said with a cheeky grin. 

“And Steve?” said Tony.

“Yes?”

“What I said about you not deserving your shield… I was wrong.”

“Tony… I’m not sure you were,” said Steve. “I mean, I lied to you about your parents’ deaths. And your dad was the one who made me the shield. I’m not sure I could keep carrying it in good conscience.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t make a mistake. But if I can’t look past other people’s mistakes, how can I expect any forgiveness for my own?” 

“Tony, you’re being awfully magnanimous tonight. Are you feeling okay?” asked Nat. 

“I’m just tired of constantly having a chip on my shoulder,” said Tony. “I think we need to start being a team again. Nothing good comes from us fighting each other – just ask Rhodey about that. If we want to be ready for whatever crisis comes next, we need to be friends. Not ‘the enemy of my enemy’ friends, but _real_ friends. I know we can’t undo what’s been done, but it’s time to start looking forward instead of dwelling in the past.”

“Always the futurist,” said Sam.

“I’m being serious,” said Tony. “Steve… what do you say?” He reached his hand out to Steve.

“I’m in,” said Steve, extending his hand to meet Tony’s. 

They clasped hands for a moment. Steve wondered if he’d been judging Tony too harshly all along. He could be arrogant, sure – but the man underneath his playboy persona was more complicated than he seemed. And also, Steve was beginning to realize, a lot more wounded than he appeared. 

“So, what now?” asked Sam. “I’m glad we’re all buddies again, but is there a plan you have in mind?”

“Well,” said Natasha. “I think the first order of business should be getting some sleep.”

“Agreed,” said Tony. “Steve, can you invite Bucky to the team? Once he’s feeling better, I have a trip planned for us.”

“Oh?” asked Steve.

“Yeah. It’s high time we got your shield back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my headcanon that the other Avengers frequently try to explain references and idioms to Steve that he is actually old enough to get, just because they're so used to him _not_ understanding things.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Kinda long chapter, lots of Bucky feels. 
> 
> Also, **thank you** to everyone reading this! When I decided to start writing this fic, I had no idea how much fun I'd have doing it. Discovering that other people are not only reading what I write, but actually _enjoying_ it, is totally amazing to me. I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate all your kind words!  <3
> 
> * * *
> 
> Also, if you've been waiting for more smut, tomorrow's chapter will hopefully satisfy!

Bucky stirred in the hospital bed, blinking his way slowly out of sleep. Aside from a headache and a general feeling of blurriness in his mind ( _familiar sensations from all the times HYDRA had wiped him – but this time, it was different, he reminded himself_ ), he felt normal. He turned his head towards Steve, who was slumped in the chair beside his bed, sound asleep, and the immediate pounding in his temples that followed made him gasp sharply. The sound made Steve jerk out of sleep.

“Bucky!” Steve mumbled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Head just hurts. Why the hell are you in the chair? Come here.” He shifted over in the bed, making as much room as possible for Steve.

“I just wanted you to get some sleep, Buck,” Steve said. “This bed is really small.”

“I don’t care. I don’t sleep so great without you, anyway,” said Bucky. Steve crawled into bed beside Bucky. Bucky curled himself against Steve, his face nestled under Steve’s chin. In response, Steve tenderly wrapped his arms around Bucky. 

“I love you so much,” murmured Steve, gently kissing the top of Bucky’s head.

“I love you,” Bucky whispered back, pulling himself closer into Steve’s embrace.

“I’m so glad it worked. I’m so glad you’re okay,” said Steve.

“I’m just glad that I have my mind back,” Bucky sighed. The relief of knowing he could no longer be transformed into a weapon with just a few words was indescribable. But he’d spent so long feeling like a bomb waiting to go off that the whole thing felt surreal. 

They lay together in the sleepy early-morning quiet, until Steve asked, “Can I get you anything, Buck?”

“Actually, can you just open the curtains. I wanna see the sunrise.”

“Of course,” said Steve. He stood up and drew the curtains back, revealing the golden light of dawn illuminating the New York skyline. Bucky rolled over to look out the window, and Steve squeezed back into bed behind him, curling his body around Bucky’s. 

“It’s beautiful,” said Bucky, his eyes welling with tears he couldn’t explain. His mind drifted back in time, to the amber light of Brooklyn dawns. Their windows had just looked out onto the walls of other tenement buildings, with no view to speak of. But even through their perpetually dirty windows, the way the morning light fell on Steve’s sleeping face made him glow like the sun was shining out from inside him. So many mornings, Bucky had spent the first moments of his waking day looking across the room at Steve, imagining what it would feel like to take his slim face in his hands, run his fingers through his soft blond hair, kiss his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then his lips… until he guiltily looked away, forcing his mind away from his desires, and silently cursing the erection that even his most innocent fantasies caused. He’d spent so many mornings aching with longing, mornings spent just one borough away, but in another world entirely. He’d lost so many mornings on the ice, mornings when he was all but dead. ( _Far colder than dead._ ) And other dawns he’d spent on missions, sleeping in HYDRA safe houses or dark, abandoned corners where nobody could find him, his mind stripped down to the bare wires of obedience and violence. He could remember seeing a few sunrises then, spectacular washes of pink light fading to rosy gold as the sun crested the horizon, but the sight hadn’t moved him. It wasn’t his mission to admire sunrises. He was the fist of HYDRA, and nothing more. A monster with no name other than the Winter Soldier, or “the asset.” Now, as his tears refracted the first rays of sun glinting off the skyscrapers, turning patches of light into stars, he felt overwhelmed with it all. Here he was, back in New York, Steve holding him tight in a loving embrace, most of a century between them and their former lives in Brooklyn. It was a homecoming he didn’t deserve. _Someone like me shouldn’t get to have something like this_ , he thought. He let out a gentle sob.

“Bucky, are you okay?” asked Steve, pulling him closer.

“I just… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You _do_ ,” said Steve, brushing Bucky’s hair off his cheek to lean over and kiss him. 

“No. I’ve done a lot of bad things. You know that. I don’t deserve love, or beautiful sunrises…”

“None of that was your fault.”

“I know that I was brainwashed,” said Bucky, choking up as he spoke. “But the thing that haunts me, I mean the thing that keeps me awake at night so often, is that I don’t know where _I_ ended and where _he_ began.”

“What do you mean, Buck?”

“The Winter Soldier was a monster. A ruthless killer, no remorse, no compassion, no hesitation. And I’d like to think that’s not _me_ , that the evil is just in _him_ , in what HYDRA created. But how can I know for sure, Steve? How do I know there’s not a little bit of monster in me, too? It’s not like the Winter Soldier is like the Hulk and I’m like Bruce Banner. The line is a little blurrier.”

“You’re not a monster. You’re my _Bucky_.”

“But I killed people. And even before I was the Winter Soldier, there was blood on my hands. Sure, it was Nazi blood, and we were fighting a war, but I was still taking lives. And when I became the Winter Soldier, I’m afraid there was some part of me, some part I don’t even know about, that was a killer all along. I guess I’m… I’m afraid that Zola picked me because he saw that there was something in me that could be turned to evil.”

“That’s not true at all,” said Steve.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Bucky, his hands trembling. The pulse in his temples echoed _monster, monster, monster_.

“I read the files. All the Winter Soldier files. Natasha got them for me. Zola picked you for a reason, but it wasn’t because you were a monster. He picked you because you survived the fall, and it proved that his earlier experiments on you had some effect on your physical endurance. But he also picked you because he knew you mattered to me. He wanted to make Captain America’s closest friend into a puppet for HYDRA, just to prove that he could. I saw what they wrote about you. Lots of notes about your loyalty to your country, your devotion to your friends. You kept…” Steve paused, and swallowed, the words sticking painfully in his throat, “You kept calling out for me in your sleep before they wiped your mind. They wrote about how hard you fought back against them, how you resisted the brainwashing for longer than they anticipated. They wanted the Winter Soldier to be a twisted form of revenge, to prove that HYDRA could bend even the most stalwart man to its will. So no, Bucky. They didn’t pick you because you’re evil. They picked you because you’re _good_. The best of the best.” 

Bucky wept, clutching Steve’s hands in his own. “I still feel so guilty, though. For what I did.”

“We all have guilt. I sure do. But no matter how low we feel, it’s our duty to pick ourselves up and keep fighting for what we know is right. Everybody is capable of doing some good for the world. And Bucky, I know that you’re capable of doing a lot of good. And if you want to atone for the sins of the Winter Soldier, I think I know of a way you can do it,” said Steve.

“But what the Winter Soldier did… it affected the whole world. How can I ever pay the world back for that?” asked Bucky.

“Well… you can become part of the team that saves the whole world. How would you like to be an Avenger?”

The words didn’t even make sense at first, but he slowly pieced together that Steve had just said. “ _What?_ ” he finally stammered. 

“I know the Avengers aren’t officially active right now, but the next time the world needs us, the rest of the team wants you fighting beside us.”

“Why would you want _me_?” Bucky asked incredulously. “I’m not the most powerful fighter, not by a long shot. I can’t move things with my mind, I don’t have a fancy metal suit, I’m definitely not an Asgardian… Why the hell would the Avengers want someone like me?”

“Not all the Avengers are powered, and we don’t all go into battle dressed head-to-toe in fancy tech,” replied Steve. “Clint’s just a guy who’s a really, _really_ good shot. And Nat… well, she’s a lot like you, really. You know that. But even though they aren’t powered, they’re still essential parts of the team. We _need_ people like that, Buck. People who can make a crucial shot, or who can pull off espionage missions that give us the intel we need to stop the bad guys. Most of what we do isn’t big, dramatic battles. If we want to stop the crises _before_ they become world-threatening, we need people like you, who can quietly stop bad people from getting their hands on dangerous things. That’s what we were trying to do in Lagos, before it all went sideways.”

“Point taken. But why should anyone trust me? I haven’t been a ‘good guy’ since the Howling Commandos. The world isn’t gonna take too kindly to the Winter Soldier being a member of the Avengers. You’re already on rocky ground in the court of public opinion, and I’m afraid I’ll just end up tipping the scales even further,” said Bucky. ( _He remembered the headline on that newspaper back in Bucharest, the photo of the man who looked like him but was not really him, the cold pit of fear sinking in his stomach as he realized it was time to run, that he was being hunted again._ ) 

“If I cared more about public opinion than doing what’s right… well, I don’t know where I’d be, but it wouldn’t be _here_. And if a defected Soviet spy and the Hulk can be accepted as Avengers, then why not you, Buck?” 

“I just… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m someone you’d really want on the team.”

“Yes. You are. Last night I was thinking about back during the war. All those times I charged into battle, I was able to be brave because I knew you had my back. The next time I have to fight, I don’t wanna do it without you. We’re better as a team, Bucky. You and me, and the rest of the Avengers. I’m better, braver, and stronger when I’m with you,” said Steve.

Bucky sighed. ( _James Buchanan Barnes. An Avenger._ ) Trying the idea on for size felt alien. He knew he was unworthy in every way. But he also knew that he couldn’t bear to let down Steve. If Captain America went into battle without him and something bad happened, how would he live with himself? ( _He didn’t even know how he was living with himself now._ ) His decision couldn’t be about his own redemption – how could he ever redeem himself after everything he’d done, even if it hadn’t been his choice? No, his decision had to be for Steve. 

He sat up in bed, looking down at Steve. Those kind blue eyes looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he didn’t deserve this, but Steve deserved the world. His own discomfort with the idea of being an Avenger didn’t matter. All that mattered was lying in bed beside him. “Okay, Stevie,” he said, taking one of Steve’s hands in both of his own. “I made you a promise a long time ago. And I intend to keep it. I’m with you till the end of the line.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Steve. Bucky leaned down over him, hair falling around their faces, and kissed him. Maybe he’d never feel like he quite belonged anywhere, but he knew with all the depths of his soul that he belonged with Steve.


	28. Chapter 28

Steve looked up at Bucky after they kissed, into his expressive blue-gray eyes. He reached up, winding his fingers into Bucky’s hair, gently pulling him back down for another kiss. His other hand slid down Bucky’s back, tracing the bare skin left exposed by his hospital gown. As their lips parted, Steve murmured, “So, how does it feel to be an Avenger?”

Bucky’s eyes glinted deviously. “I’m not sure yet. I’m more interested in knowing what an Avenger feels like, if you catch my meaning.” His hand traced down Steve’s belly, sending shivers straight to Steve’s groin. Kissing had begun to awaken his body, but the way Bucky’s fingers were caressing slow circles just above his waistband had drawn his cock to full attention. Bucky cupped his hand around Steve’s cock through his pants, smirking as Steve gasped. “Well now, it looks like Captain America’s flag isn’t flying at half-mast,” he whispered in Steve’s ear, gently biting his earlobe as he pressed himself against Steve’s leg, slowly rutting against him with an animalistic neediness that only made Steve harder. 

“Bucky,” he said, “Someone could come in here any minute. And anyway, the curtains are open…”

“Shh,” murmured Bucky, his hips slowly grinding against Steve’s thigh. “If someone walks in on us, it’s their fault for not knocking.” 

“But…” Steve protested unconvincingly, “Tony… and T’Challa…”

“It’s nothing they don’t know about,” replied Bucky. “If they wanna find out firsthand that Steve Rogers isn’t a virgin any more, let ‘em.”

Steve sighed, half from exasperation, half from pleasure at Bucky’s touch. 

“Anyway, I just wanna make sure my head is still working,” said Bucky, giving Steve an absolutely filthy grin. He lifted the sheets over himself and shimmied down to the foot of the bed. Steve felt strong fingers, flesh and metal, unbuckling his belt, deftly unbuttoning his pants and unzipping his fly. With a swift tug, his cock was free of his clothes, aching with the pulse of anticipation. He couldn’t see exactly what Bucky was doing under the sheets, but he could feel the warmth of his breath drawing close to him. A hand wrapped itself around the base of his cock, and he cried out softly as he felt Bucky’s tongue swirl over the tip. Bucky’s hand released him and his tongue lifted away, but a few moments later, Bucky traced the tip of his tongue from Steve’s balls, up the shaft of his cock, finally taking the head into his mouth. 

Steve moaned. The steady heat of arousal was growing stronger. He knew that what they were doing was risky – anyone could walk in at any moment – but the needs of the flesh were outweighing the misgivings of his mind. Anyway, there was something strangely erotic about the danger of being discovered. He turned his head, looking out the window. There were people in offices and high-rise apartments out there, going about their lives, completely unaware that nearby in Avengers Tower, Captain America was getting a blowjob from the man who used to be the Winter Soldier. He couldn’t begin to explain why, but the thought of it only made him harder. 

Agonizingly slowly, Bucky began to work his mouth up and down Steve, pressing his tongue against the underside of his cock so the slickness of his spit, combined with the texture of his tongue, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through every inch of Steve’s body. “God, Bucky,” Steve gasped. “This might be the best feeling in the world.”

Abruptly, Bucky took his mouth off Steve’s cock, much to Steve’s chagrin. He lifted the sheets up, looking up at Steve. The sight of Bucky crouched over his erection, inches from the pink-flushed head of his cock, his chin shining with spit, made Steve’s pulse quicken. “You wanna bet on that?” asked Bucky. 

“I…” Steve trailed off as Bucky lifted his left hand to Steve’s mouth, his index and middle fingers finding their way between his lips. Steve tasted the metallic cold, submitting to Bucky’s fingers as they slid their way against his throat, pressing against his tongue, urging him to submit to Bucky’s desires. Steve sucked on them, moving his mouth against Bucky’s fingers as if they were a cock, staring into Bucky’s hungry eyes. 

Bucky drew his fingers back out, then slowly slid them into his own mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly, never breaking eye contact with Steve. Taking his fingers from his mouth, he traced them down Steve’s balls, between his legs, and began slowly circling the outside of his anus, the tickle of mouth-warmed metal against his flesh making Steve’s back arch in pleasure. “I take it you don’t wanna bet after all,” Bucky said in a low, rough voice, his fingers pressing their way slowly into Steve. With one slow, slick push, Bucky’s fingers slid past the taut ring of muscle at the entrance of Steve’s ass, beginning to explore him with soft, come-hither motions. Steve let out a low moan, and in response, Bucky’s mouth found its way back to his cock, taking him in deep, deeper than before, each bob of his head in time with the motions of his fingers. Steve still felt awed by the gentleness and subtlety that Bucky could convey, even with his left arm, metal fingers in unison with warm, wet mouth, the dual stimulation sending firm pulses of electric heat through him, his cock beginning to twitch as his eyes rolled back in his head, and suddenly he was coming into Bucky’s mouth, crying out as his hips stuttered against Bucky’s lips, white-hot bursts of ecstasy rolling through him. Bucky swallowed eagerly, hungrily, and removing his hand from Steve’s ass, slowly drew it from the base of Steve’s cock up to the tip, licking away the last drops of cum. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve murmured weakly, his body trembling. 

Bucky rose to his knees, sheets around his shoulders, his own erection tenting his hospital gown. Slowly, he lifted his gown, revealing his cock in all its throbbing glory, straining upwards in aching tumescence out of a dense thicket of dark curls. Taking it in his hand, Bucky began to touch himself in long, sure strokes, his eyes staring with fiery intensity into Steve’s. “Dammit, Steve, you’re too pretty. Gonna get off just looking at you, baby.”

“No, you’re not,” Steve said, emboldened by the warm flush of orgasm, and the sight of Bucky’s self-pleasure that was already getting him hard again. He pulled his pants back up and sprang to his feet, coming to kneel alongside the lower half of the bed, below where the rails ended. “Come here,” he ordered. Bucky sat back down, shimmying his way towards Steve, his hips flush with the edge of the mattress. His gown had fallen back down, but Steve lifted it slowly, admiring each inch of Bucky’s body as he uncovered it. Muscular thighs leading to strong hips, and between his legs, Steve’s destination. 

“Well, are you gonna just _look_ at it all day, or are you gonna _do_ something to it?” Bucky growled. Steve smirked up at him, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s neediness, of the feeling of having something he wanted desperately but had to wait for. 

Teasingly, Steve took Bucky’s cock into his hand, lowering his lips to the glistening head of it. He delicately smoothed his tongue against moist flesh, tracing tiny circles around the slit, tasting the salt of his pre-cum. He lifted his mouth away. “ _God_ , Buck… you’re ready, aren’t you?”

“Just fucking _give it to me_ , you goddamn tease,” Bucky grumbled.

“And to think you kiss Captain America with that filthy mouth,” Steve said with a smirk, and taking Bucky into his mouth, began to move his head in the same rhythm of long, sure strokes he’d seen Bucky’s hand doing to himself. 

“God _damn_ ,” Bucky gasped as Steve took his balls into his palm, cupping them as he opened his throat to take all of Bucky in. Spit was dribbling down his chin, but he didn’t care. All Steve cared about was the salty, intoxicatingly musky taste of Bucky, the soft moans his efforts elicited as Bucky’s hips strained upwards, daring Steve to take him even deeper. Steve reached up Bucky’s gown with his other hand, finding a pert nipple and gently rolling it in his fingers. Bucky let out a soft hiss of pleasure at the touch, and emboldened, Steve gave his nipple a sharp tug. Bucky responded with a whimper that caused Steve to momentarily pause the rhythm of his head in concern, but Bucky grunted, “No, don’t stop, _please… more…_ ” And Steve resumed his ministrations, clawing his fingers down Bucky’s broad chest, his nails leaving bright red pressure marks against Bucky’s belly as he traced his way down the firm peaks and valleys of his muscular torso. “I’m so _fucking_ close, Stevie,” Bucky breathed, and a few strokes of Steve’s mouth later, he cried out with a vulnerability that made Steve’s knees tremble with love, and his cock spasmed in Steve’s mouth, coating his tongue with the salt and faint bitterness of his cum. Steve heard a sound like crumpling tinfoil, and looked over to see that Bucky’s left hand, gripping the railing of the hospital bed, had twisted the metal in the throes of his orgasm. 

Steve pulled away, wiping his lips and chin with the back of his hand as he swallowed. “So now how does it feel to be an Avenger?” Steve asked with a satisfied grin. 

“Damned amazing,” Bucky replied, pulling Steve back up into bed with him. They lay face to face, the tips of their noses touching. Steve reached up to Bucky’s face, tracing his thumb across Bucky’s lips, feeling the roughness of his stubble against his knuckles. 

Bucky gently took Steve’s thumb into his mouth, giving it a tender bite, then let it go. “I love you so goddamn much, Stevie,” he murmured.

“I love you, Bucky, more than anything,” Steve whispered back. “But you gotta work on that pottymouth of yours.”

“Like hell I do,” Bucky said with a smirk. Steve gave him a teasing flick on the nose, then kissed him lingeringly on the lips. “You love me just the way I am.”

“You’re goddamn right,” said Steve with a don’t-you-dare-tell-Sam-or-Nat grin, before planting another kiss on Bucky’s mouth.


	29. Chapter 29

A sharp knock on the door made them both startle. “Good morning!” Tony’s muffled voice said.

“Come in!” said Steve, then realizing his belt was still undone, fumbled to buckle it as the door opened.

“Am I interrupting something?” Tony asked pointedly. 

“Absolutely not,” said Steve as his face turned red. 

T’Challa appeared behind Tony, giving Steve and Bucky a nod, accompanied by a small, knowing smile. Steve was fairly sure he’d noticed the crumpled bed railing, but he wasn’t positive. “So glad to see that you are well,” he said to Bucky. 

“Thank you,” Bucky replied. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

“No thanks are needed,” said T’Challa. “There is more than enough suffering in this world. If I have to power to lessen it in some way, I do my best to help.”

Tony turned to Steve, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. “I asked him,” Steve said in response.

“And what do you say, Bucky?” asked Tony.

“Yes. I’m in.”

“Good,” said Tony. “Of course, there may be some political complications that we’ll need to address, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Oh?” said Steve. “And what do you mean by that?”

“If Bucky is going to operate on any public missions, rather than just covert ones, we need to clear his name. That may mean hearings, a trial… I’m not sure yet, but it’s something we’ll need to be ready for.”

“That’s absurd!” Steve blurted out. “Bucky was a _victim_ , not a—”

Bucky put his left hand on Steve’s chest, and said, “Of course. I’ll stand trial for my crimes. It’s the right thing to do.”

“But Bucky… they weren’t _your_ crimes,” said Steve.

“They weren’t mine, but I did them. And I ought to be held accountable for that. And the American people deserve to know the truth. Of all people, Steve, you should agree with that,” said Bucky.

“I just…” said Steve, voice shaking. “I know if people have the full facts, they’ll acquit you. Absolutely. But the whole spectacle of a trial… parading you around like some sort of _criminal_ … I hate it.”

“It’s a small price to pay for what I did as the Winter Soldier,” Bucky said quietly. 

“It’s your choice. But I don’t like it,” Steve sighed. 

“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Rogers,” said T’Challa. “I admit I am not entirely familiar with the finer points of the American justice system, but I don’t believe any jury in their right mind would convict your dear Mr. Barnes.” 

“Regardless, we have more immediate matters to deal with,” said Tony. “Specifically, retrieving your shield.”

Steve felt Bucky stiffen beside him. The place he’d left his shield was one of the last places on earth Bucky would want to visit – the main compound of the Winter Soldier Program. He took Bucky’s hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to come,” Steve reassured him. 

“No. I need to,” replied Bucky.

“It’s just retrieving my shield. It’s perfectly okay if you want to sit this one out,” said Steve.

“I need to go for _myself_ ,” said Bucky. “To see that godforsaken place one last time. For closure.”

“Oh,” Steve replied quietly. 

“I’ll take you there,” said T’Challa. “My jet is ready whenever you are. My doctors do want to examine you one more time, however, to make sure you have made a full recovery.”

Bucky nodded. 

“If you’re ready now, I can take you to them,” said Tony. 

“Of course,” replied Bucky. “Let’s get it over with.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, following Tony out of the room. 

Steve sat in the bed, just him and T’Challa in the room. “Again, I am sorry,” said T’Challa, his normally proud and composed demeanor giving way to an undercurrent of sadness. “I hoped… I hoped that I could fix your Mr. Barnes back in Wakanda. I spoke to Ms. Romanoff about his relapse. I am sincerely sorry for what you went through. I can only imagine how you must have worried about him.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Steve. “You did the best you could. Better than anyone else could have without Tony’s brain-scanning technology.”

“Still, I feel responsible. After what happened at the U.N., I was too grief-stricken to think clearly, to evaluate the facts before me. I only worsened the situation when I mistakenly sought vengeance. If there is ever anything you or Mr. Barnes need from me, I will gladly provide it. It’s the least I can do to atone for my mistakes. It would insult my father’s memory to do anything less.”

“I appreciate it. But with all due respect, we _all_ made mistakes then, myself included. You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” said Steve.

T’Challa smiled wistfully, looking out the window, then glancing at the warped railing of the bed. “I’m just glad that you two have each other,” he said.

Steve blushed. He didn’t know why talking about his relationship with Bucky made him so bashful – he just wasn’t used to having a special someone in his life, he guessed – but it did. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed by it,” said T’Challa. “I understand that in the time and place you came from, people did not speak of such things. Even now, there are many who might cast judgment. But I can see the love you two have for each other. It was clear from when I first saw the two of you together. Whether you care to admit it or not, both of you have been through hell, and endured more than most people ever will. You deserve happiness, and it is obvious that you find it in each other. Please, hold on to that. No matter what people may say.”

Steve sighed, looking out the window, out at the Manhattan skyline, all shining towers and Technicolor-bright advertisements. 

“It must be lonely. When I was a boy, I read a lot of stories about time travelers. I was fascinated by the concept. But at the same time, it terrified me. I had nightmares about waking up in a new time, separated from everything familiar, for everything and everyone I knew. The isolation that comes from being outside of one’s own time… I can’t imagine how it must feel. But to have _him_ … to not be alone as a stranger in this strange, strange land…” T’Challa mused. 

“I never fit in during my own time, either,” Steve sighed. “I was a sickly little punk, too stupid not to pick fights with all the bullies in Brooklyn. I still have no idea why Bucky and I became friends. Things are easy when you’re kids, I guess. But what he saw in me, I can’t begin to guess.”

“I suppose he saw the same thing in you that Dr. Erskine did,” T’Challa said. “Most boys are not so astute in their judgment of people… but then, I suppose Bucky wasn’t ‘most boys.’”

“No. He never was,” Steve replied, running his fingers absent-mindedly over the crumpled bedrail. Bucky had always been special – exceptionally kind, extremely funny, exuberantly full of life. Now, Steve just had to make sure everyone else could see what he saw in Bucky. He wondered if that was how Bucky had felt about _him_ back in the day. It was all coming full circle, he realized. Back then, he had been desperate to prove that he could become a soldier. Now, Bucky needed to prove to the world that he wasn’t the Winter Soldier. _It’d be funny if it weren’t so sad_ , Steve thought. 

“I need to prepare the Quinjet for our journey to Siberia. I will see you shortly,” said T’Challa. 

“Okay,” Steve replied, barely listening. As much as everything was falling into place, he still felt an anxious protectiveness towards Bucky. _I’ll keep you safe, love – I promise_ , Steve thought, the words like a prayer.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little on the shorter side, sorry! The next chapter is gonna be longer/have more stuff happen in it. I wasn't able to write as much as I hoped to yesterday (it was for happy reasons, though... my boss is stepping down and told me she wants me to apply for her job, so I was busy writing a cover letter!), so this chapter is a little bit lean. 
> 
> Much love to you all! <3

They convened on top of Avengers Tower that afternoon. Bucky had received the all-clear from the doctors, and was back in his street clothes. T’Challa, Tony, Steve, and Bucky all climbed into the Quinjet, and T’Challa took the pilot’s seat, Tony beside him. Steve sat behind them with Bucky. 

Maybe it was the aftereffects of the procedure, or maybe it was the dread that their destination churned up in the pit of his stomach, but Bucky felt the slow creep of anxiety rising through him. He tried to focus on Steve sitting across from him, but his mind couldn’t keep the memories at bay. Nightmare images flickered behind his eyes like the wartime newsreels of his youth. ( _God, he’d been so young when he first went to war. Barely more than a kid._ ) Coming out of cryostasis, consciousness sparking back into him like it’d been put there by jumper cables, the cold so penetrating he couldn’t even shiver… The other Winter Soldiers, twice as savage as he was, attacking him during a training exercise that left him with broken ribs that would’ve ached for weeks if they hadn’t put him right back on the ice after… The mission reports, so many mission reports, numbly recounting atrocities that he’d carried out unquestioningly…

“Bucky? You okay?” Steve asked softly. Bucky started, his mind jolted back to the present. 

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t much feel like talking. Not even to Steve. ( _There isn’t a goddamn person on this earth who can really understand his personal hell. The loneliest place on the planet is in his own fucking mind._ ) 

“You sure?” Steve murmured, eyebrows knitting together with concern as he placed a hand on Bucky’s knee. “If you don’t want to go, we can still turn around. It’s not too late.”

Bucky sighed. He couldn’t lie to himself – he was tempted. But running away from his past wouldn’t solve anything. The therapists back in D.C. hadn’t done much for him, but one of them had told him something that’d stuck with him. He tried to remember exactly what she’d said. Something about how recovery wasn’t about forgetting, but about re-contextualizing. He’d thought it seemed like bullshit at the time, but maybe she’d been on to something. He was going to do his best to re-contextualize the Siberian HYDRA facility. Either that, or he was going to lose his mind. _Again_ , he thought wryly. 

“Buck?” Steve implored. 

Bucky realized he hadn’t responded to Steve’s offer to turn the Quinjet around. God, was he out of it. Being around doctors always got him out of sorts. ( _So many white coats, strapping him to monitors, and he was back in the chair, the mind wipe searing his memories away in a nuclear flash, blinding him to who he was… no. That was over._ ) “No, I’m fine,” he replied.

“Okay. Please just tell me if you’re not, okay?” Steve implored, the question trembling in the air. Bucky immediately felt guilty for his curtness. Sure, he was anxious, and he didn’t feel the same ease of interaction with Tony or T’Challa that he felt with Steve, but he knew that his distant behavior was only serving to make Steve anxious, too.

“I will, Steve,” Bucky said, willing his face into a tight smile. 

“Thanks,” Steve replied. 

“Clearly, you two need a safeword,” said Tony, snorting at his own joke.

“A _what_?” asked Steve. Bucky shrugged at him. He wasn’t familiar, either.

“Don’t tell me _neither_ of you know what that is,” said Tony.

“No idea,” Steve sighed.

“Okay, well – God, I feel like I’m explaining this to a grandpa – a safeword is a word or phrase you use when you want something to stop,” Tony said.

“Oh. I think I understand,” said Bucky, recalling one of the HYDRA mind control triggers he’d finally been freed from the day before. “It’s like how if the Winter Soldier’s handlers wanted to shut me down immediately, they would say the word ‘Sputnik’ and I’d just—”

“It’s usually used in a sexual context,” Tony elaborated with a sigh. 

“Oh!” Steve reacted in surprise. “That’s…” he blushed a soft shade of pink. “Interesting.”

Bucky nodded. Tony had blasted off his arm, and he could certainly be an asshole, but he had some redeeming qualities. The whole “helping to undo his brainwashing” thing had been nice, but the distraction his snarky comments provided had some merits, too. It wasn’t as though Bucky was opposed to the occasional snarky comment, after all. The thought made him realize that he kind of _missed_ Sam. He’d never imagined that they could actually be friends – their relationship when the conflict with Iron Man’s team was going down had been tense at best. _It’s not even hard to move your seat forward, you bastard_ , he thought, remembering what a couple of dicks they’d been to each other when they were on the run. 

It was funny how friendships worked. There’d been a time, back before his fall, when making friends had been easy. He’d been all cocky confidence and easy smiles, the kind of guy people wanted to be around. Sure, if people had known that he’d been head-over-heels for scrawny little Steve Rogers, and if they’d known that when he got really overwhelmed with the hopelessness of his heartache, he’d found temporary solace in unfamiliar men down in the alleys near the shipping docks, things would’ve been different. But they hadn’t known, and so he’d gotten endless dates with pretty dames who always wanted to do more than just kissing, who he’d had to lie to ( _“It’s not you, darlin’, I just had a couple too many whiskeys at the dance, but really, I want to…”_ ) when they’d try to take him to bed. Lots of fellas wanted to be friends with him, too, but lots of those same guys were the ones who sent Stevie home with shiners, so he’d been choosy with his company. 

Now, there wasn’t much company to choose from, but he was grateful for the friends he had. He’d spent so many years without a friend in the world, human kindness as distant as the stars that winked coldly down on him during his covert missions. At first, having friends at all had felt awkward, like walking on a leg that had fallen asleep from being sat on too long. But now, he was beginning to grow comfortable with the idea of other people actually caring about _him_ , instead of just his mission reports.

The soft hum of the Quinjet purred through him, and Bucky realized that he was exhausted. Across from him, Steve was beginning to nod off – the poor guy couldn’t have slept well in the chair next to his bed. Steve was always too self-sacrificing, the big dummy. As his own eyes began to slide shut, sleep slipping over him like a warm blanket, Bucky recalled a time in Brooklyn when he’d broken up a fight between Steve and a couple bullies. They must’ve been about twelve or thirteen, and Steve was getting his ass whooped. Bucky had stepped in, and gotten a black eye in the process. Poor little Stevie had been beaten half to a pulp, his lip split open and his ribs (he’d been so skinny that each bone protruded like the pattern of corrugated iron) a mess of purple and sickly yellow bruises, but he insisted on holding a cool cloth to Bucky’s eye and fussing over him incessantly. That might’ve been when he’d really fallen in love with Steve, delicate fingers and concerned eyes all over his face, ignoring his own hurt, full of tenderness and care, and Bucky had realized how badly he wanted to kiss those perfect lips as they fretted over him…


	31. Chapter 31

“Wake up, Bucky,” Steve cajoled him. His eyes fluttered open. “We’re here,” Steve said, kneeling down in front of Bucky and taking his hands in his own. 

“How long was I asleep?” Bucky mumbled. 

“About six hours,” replied Steve. “It’s a long flight, even in a Quinjet.”

“I guess the doctors did tell me I’d probably be more tired than usual,” said Bucky. 

“Are you ready?” asked Steve. 

_Am I ready to go back to my own personal hell?_ Bucky asked himself. _No. But that doesn’t matter. I have to._ “Yes,” he said.

“Alright, Rogers. Ready to get your shield back?” Tony asked from the pilot seat. 

“Sure am. Let’s go,” Steve said. 

Snow encased the landscape, painting everything the same featureless, mounded white. Only the HYDRA facility itself rose from the endless drifts, a gray monolith carved into unforgiving rock. The four of them walked up to the door. 

“Oh, what’s the word… _mellon_!” said Tony, as he pulled the doors open. 

“Very funny,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. 

“You understood that reference?” Tony asked incredulously. 

“I’ve read books since I came out of the ice, Tony. When I heard there were sequels to _The Hobbit_ , they went straight to the top of my reading list,” said Steve. 

“Well, I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” Tony replied.

As they stepped into the facility, they all fell silent – even Tony. The place had an undeniable energy about it, the kind that crawled into the flesh and refused to give visitors any peace. A dull ominousness, hanging heavy in the air. Bucky shivered, and not because of the bitter cold. ( _This is where they froze him. This is where he slept, dreamless, as HYDRA dreamed up new ways for him to carry out their evil intentions._ ) 

Steve took his hand, sensing his tension. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. You don’t have to do this, Bucky. You can still walk away.”

“No. I have to.” ( _He should turn around. He should run. Run into the snow and scream. Scream until this monstrous place crumbles into dust._ ) He willed himself to walk forward, towards the heart of the facility. Every cell in his body wanted to turn back, but he tried to focus on each step. Simple. One foot forward. Then the next. Step. Step. Step. ( _Don’t think about where he’s going. Don’t think about what they did to him there. Don’t think about the tape Zemo played there._ ) 

His heart hammered in his chest. _Monster, monster, monster_ , it drummed. He neared the end of the dark hall, found himself at the entrance of the room. Cavernous darkness, lit by the amber glow of the five cryostasis chambers. All empty now. Tony or T’Challa must’ve arranged for the bodies of the other Winter Soldiers to be taken away. Or maybe Steve had. He didn’t know. All he could focus on was the amber glow, and in the middle of the room, encircled in a metal railing and raised on a platform like some sort of fucked-up throne, the chair. ( _Those Russian words, “Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car. Soldier?”_ ) His stomach churned as he walked forward, towards the darkest circles of his hell. ( _“Mission report.”_ ) Towards the chair they’d strapped him down in so many times, the chair they’d used to control him, to break him, to steal away from him everything about himself that mattered. They’d used that chair to turn him into a monster. _Monster, monster, monster,_ his pulse hammered against his skull. ( _No. Remember what Steve had told him. “They didn’t pick you because you’re evil. They picked you because you’re good. The best of the best.”_ ) He didn’t feel like the best of the best, not even a little bit. But as he stepped up onto the platform and walked up to the chair (and God, it still smelled like hot metal and piss, even now), he decided that if HYDRA had been able to ruin everything about him, to make a soulless monster of the man he’d once been, it was the very least he could do to ruin their fucking chair. 

His left arm flew out, grasping the mind-wiping device that had lowered over his head so many times like a nightmarish crown, and jerked back, the metal tearing like paper in his fist. ( _They made him into a weapon._ ) He pulled back, kicking the chair itself, hearing the dull rattle as it shook against its screws. ( _They made him into a murderer._ ) Reaching down, he grabbed it with both hands and pulled as hard as he could, the mechanisms inside his prosthetic arm whirring, and with a scraping groan, tore it clean from the cement of the platform. ( _They made him less than human._ ) He lifted the chair, threw it with as much force as he could towards the cryostasis chamber that had once housed the empty shell of himself. ( _They had stolen everything from him._ ) The glass of the tank shattered as the chair hit it, a burst of glinting amber shards cascading down, the crash echoing through the upper reaches of the room. ( _But now he was free._ )

Steve ran up to him, hands gripping his shoulders. “Bucky! Buck. It’s okay, Bucky.”

Bucky turned to Steve, burying his head against the warmth of Steve’s neck. He was trembling uncontrollably, but Steve pulled him in close, letting him shake in his strong, familiar arms. “It’s all over, Bucky. It’s okay,” Steve murmured. 

“I had to,” Bucky said shakily. “I had to destroy it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t go through my new life knowing _this_ was still out there.”

“I know.”

“Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go get your shield. And then let’s leave.”

* * *

Steve draped Bucky’s arm over his shoulder, and gently guided him out of the room. The whole situation felt uncannily like the last time they’d visited the Siberian HYDRA facility, but as Tony and T’Challa looked on at a respectful (and maybe a little bit wary) distance, he knew that everything was different this time. They slowly walked to the room where they’d once fought. His shield lay on the ground as he’d left it, illuminated by a stripe of cold Siberian light filtered through the square columns of the room. He reached down and took it into his hands, the vibranium icy-cold against his palms. The shield was so familiar that it felt like another limb. He ran his fingers across its surface, skimming from red to silver, red again, and then onto the silver star against its blue field. _My first battle, I ran into a HYDRA-run POW camp with a shield that barely qualified as a stage prop_ , he thought to himself. _But that was a lifetime ago._ He remembered Howard Stark showing him the prototypes, jealous Peggy aiming her gun at the simple vibranium disc he held before him. Bucky on the train, the shield between him and HYDRA. Bucky in the middle of the street, his eyes vacant except for determination and rage, crouching behind the shield like an animal. Letting his shield drop into the Potomac, putting his trust in whatever of Bucky was still inside the Winter Soldier. Fighting alien invasions and killer robots and whatever else the universe decided to throw at him. So many years, so many battles. Truthfully, he’d felt diminished without it, without the weight of it on his arm, and without the weight of its meaning in his heart. 

He turned to Bucky, who was still shaking a bit, but still gave Steve a faint smile. “With that thing, you’ll hardly even need me to protect you against the bullies,” Bucky teased, his wavering voice belying his emotions. 

“Don’t be silly, Buck,” Steve replied, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I can always use you watching my back. Now let’s get out of here.”

* * *

The four of them returned to the Quinjet. As they settled into their respective seats, Steve’s shield propped beside him, Bucky looked up at Steve. “Remember when I told you I wanted to get rid of the red star, but I wasn’t sure what should take its place?”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Steve.

“Well… I think I know now.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all ready for fluff! This one's very domestic!Bucky-centric. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen the 1986 classic action film _Top Gun_ , there are some spoilers in this chapter... If you're 30 years behind in your Tom Cruise filmography, be forewarned! You're now on the "highway to the (spoiler) danger zone!" :P

**THE NEXT EVENING**

Steve and Bucky had invited Nat and Sam over for dinner and a movie. It was one of the first truly chilly evenings of autumn, and Natasha had insisted on preparing them all her favorite comfort food from her homeland – pelmeni. She’d been bustling away in Steve’s kitchen for quite some time, but she’d recruited Bucky as her sous-chef. Steve watched the two of them from the living room, smiling contentedly. Nat patiently explained to Bucky how to fold and pinch the little dumplings into shape, and he followed along with her directions, his fingers deftly molding the dough around the filling. 

Sam, for his part, had selected the movie of the night – _Top Gun_. “Even though it’s about the Navy,” he explained jokingly, “It’s still a classic. I think you and Bucky will like it.” Steve rolled his eyes. He’d never understood the rivalry between the different branches of the military, but he indulged Sam’s insistence that the Air Force was the best of them all. 

“Goddammit,” Steve heard Bucky grumble from the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll wash right out,” Natasha reassured him, laughing into her hand.

“What’s going on in there?” Steve asked. 

“Dough got in the creases of his left hand and jammed it up, so now he can’t move his fingers,” Natasha snickered from the doorway. “Sorry, Bucky! I shouldn’t laugh, but…” she resumed giggling uncontrollably. 

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, but Steve could hear the barely suppressed laughter in his voice. 

Steve got up and went to the kitchen, walking up behind Bucky as he stood over the sink, scrubbing his hand vigorously. He put his arms around Bucky’s waist and nosed aside his hair, giving him a gentle kiss on the neck. “Thanks for helping Nat with dinner,” he said. 

“I’m happy to,” Bucky replied. “I’m just trying to get used to things being… normal. As much as they can be, for people like us.”

“Don’t worry. Knowing us, normal won’t last for too long,” Sam added, joining them in the doorway.

Nat chuckled to herself. “Truer words have never been said,” she agreed. “Bucky, Steve told me you want to replace your star.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I think I know what I want it to be.”

“Lemme guess,” said Sam. “…A heart! You can be a My Little Avenger!”

“A _what_?” Bucky asked, puzzled.

“Well, you see, there are these toys that were really popular with little girls when I was growing up called My Little Ponies, and they all had little symbols on their— you know what, never mind,” Sam sighed. “It’s not as fun to tease you if you don’t get the reference.” 

“Yeah, the whole ‘brainwashed HYDRA agent’ thing really left me out of the loop on children’s toys from the Eighties. Sorry,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. 

“You mean HYDRA never sent you to a Toys ‘R’ Us?” Sam asked mock-incredulously. 

“Oh, leave him alone,” Nat said, “Anyway, I need him to finish these pelmeni with me.”

“But I wanna know what he wants on his arm!” said Sam. 

“Well…” Bucky began, blushing. “I wanted to keep the star. I don’t wanna forget where I came from… what I went through. What I did.” His face clouded with the pain of memories. “So I’m making the star white. With, ah, red and blue.”

Natasha’s face slowly transformed from intrigued to beaming. “ _Aww_!” she said, squeezing Bucky’s arm. “That’s amazing!”

Steve smiled to himself, blushing even more than Bucky, as usual. 

“You don’t think that’s bad luck for you two, like getting tattoos of each other’s names?” asked Sam. 

“He’s not some dumb kid,” said Steve. “He’s nearly a century old, after all.”

“And it’s not just about Stevie,” explained Bucky. “It’s about our history. The Howling Commandos, and everything we stood for back then. Everything we still stand for now. That shield meant something – it still does. When we ran into battle, and Captain America led the way with his shield, all those Nazi bullets pinging off it…” he trailed off, lost in distant memories. “We felt so unstoppable, then. Like the forces of good would inevitably triumph over evil. I dunno. I’m not much for making inspirational speeches, I guess – we can’t all be Steve Rogers,” he said with a teasing smile, “—But I remember how the shield made me _feel_. It was a symbol of hope. There was so much horror over there, and the things the Nazis did… we saw things that’d make _anyone_ lose their faith in humanity. But wherever that shield went, goodness followed. HYDRA stole all my hope away from me. So if I’m going to have to carry the weight of the Winter Soldier with me for the rest of my life, then dammit, I’m gonna do it with that shield on my arm. ‘Cause I know that if I’m wearing it, I get to carry some of that goodness with me. And God knows I need it.” 

Sam blinked. “Shit…” he trailed off.

Natasha blinked back tears. 

“Sorry if I got too serious,” Bucky mumbled bashfully.

“No, Bucky,” said Natasha. “Not at all.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky again. “You didn’t tell me all that before, Buck. I’ll talk to Tony. We’ll get it done as soon as possible, okay?”

“Thank you,” Bucky replied. “I’d like that a lot.” They stood in silence for a few moments, until Bucky said, “I should help Nat finish cooking. I’m starving.”

“Finally, someone said it! I’m _dying_ here!” Sam complained melodramatically, clutching his stomach in mock-agony. 

“Oh, hush,” said Natasha. “These will be worth the wait, I promise.” 

The serious moment passed, and they no longer felt like four Avengers, but like four friends smiling, teasing, and laughing together in a warm apartment kitchen on a chilly autumnal evening, enjoying each other’s company. Bucky and Natasha continued shaping the pelmeni, until finally they were ready to boil. Once they cooked, Natasha tossed the plump little dumplings in butter and a bit of dill, and gently spooned them into four bowls, then topped each pile of steaming pelmeni with a little dollop of sour cream. 

“This looks amazing,” said Steve. “Thanks, you two.”

“I hope you enjoy them,” said Nat. “They’re real bastards to make, so you’d better.”

“Hey!” said Bucky. “Steve doesn’t appreciate you talking about his pelmeni that way.”

All four of them laughed despite the inevitability of the comment, in the easy way that friends with an inside joke do. _I know that normal doesn’t exist for us. I know it’ll never be that easy. But right now, it feels like it could be_ , Steve thought to himself. 

They settled in front of Steve’s television, stuffing their faces with flavorful, meaty dumplings and watching yet another Eighties action movie – Sam’s favorite genre. Steve thought it was a bit cheesy at times, and Bucky laughed quite a bit at the volleyball scene, but when Sam choked up when Goose died, Steve realized that maybe there was more reason behind his love of _Top Gun_ than he was willing to talk about. 

They spent the rest of the evening finishing the movie, chatting, and cleaning the kitchen as a team. After Nat and Sam had gone home, and Steve and Bucky had gone to bed, Steve lay awake, curled around Bucky, breathing in the sweet smell of his hair as he listened to the slow, gentle rhythm of his breath. _People like us don’t get normal_ , he reminded himself, _But this is better than normal could ever be._


	33. Chapter 33

“Yeah, I can do that,” said Tony. “But are you sure this won’t end up being a ‘Winona Forever’-type situation?”

“What?” asked Steve. 

“You know, sometimes I wish I’d slept through the Nineties, too,” Tony muttered. “Anyway, yeah, I can do it. Honestly, you could probably just swing by the local auto detailing shop and get it done.”

“Very funny, Tony, but I don’t think they have a lot of experience working on vibranium alloys,” said Steve. “Which is what T’Challa made his current arm out of.”

“Of course. Come by tomorrow. Oh, and Steve?”

“What?”

“I’ve heard it on good authority that government officials are catching on to the fact that Bucky is on U.S. soil. Even though he’s been absolved from the Vienna bombing accusations, he’s still been linked to – or rumored to be linked to – a few dozen of the major political assassinations of the Twentieth Century. Since you’re Captain America, it seems like they’ve given you a bit of a pass on the whole ‘refusing to sign the Accords’ thing, but Bucky doesn’t have quite the same star power you do. Once they figure out he’s with you, they’re going to come for him. They’re going to want answers. And I think it’d be prudent for him to come quietly. The last thing his P.R. campaign needs is a manhunt.”

“His P.R. campaign?” Steve asked pointedly. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m being pragmatic, Steve. America hasn’t known Bucky as a war hero since the Forties. And I hate to break it to you, but most of the people who were around back then are dead now. Most people only know him from the Smithsonian at best, and from sensationalist news reports about the ‘Winter Soldier bombing’ at worst. I know you don’t like thinking about the practical realities of stuff like this, but Bucky needs some good press.”

“I can be practical,” Steve retorted.

“Well, then, you’ll be happy to know that I think his new arm design is brilliant. America’s still got enough of a McCarthyist streak to get a little suspicious of a reformed traitor with a red star on his arm,” said Tony.

“He’s not a _traitor_. He was a prisoner of war!”

“See? That’s the kind of passion you’ll want to bring to the trial,” said Tony. 

“There shouldn’t have to _be_ a trial. He was the victim of war crimes, not a perpetrator. I don’t think it’s fair that he should have to live through all those horrors again just to prove something we already know.”

“It might not be fair, but it’s what’s going to happen whether you like it or not,” Tony sighed. “I figured that you, of all people, would understand the importance of going through the justice system.”

“I also care about keeping Bucky safe,” Steve snapped. “And I don’t trust that our government will do that.” He spun on his heels and marched away.

As he left Avengers Tower, his head whirled from Tony’s words. He knew rationally that Tony was right, but his heart couldn’t accept it. Sure, no jury in their right mind would convict him, given the evidence – but could he trust that Bucky would be given a fair trial? Flashes of memory from the manhunt in Bucharest came back to him. Without his intervention, Steve very much doubted that they would’ve taken Bucky alive. As much as he wanted to trust that wisdom would prevail, he had little faith that it would. He’d seen too much to keep the unquestioning beliefs he’d held in his youth. But as scared as he felt, he knew that barring a life on the run, there would be no escaping it. As sick as it made him feel, Bucky would stand on trial. The only thing he could do was steel himself for it, and prepare to defend him against whatever accusations were thrown Bucky’s way.

* * *

The next morning, Steve woke up before Bucky and quietly got dressed, then sat with a cup of coffee at the little table in the kitchen, watching the gray dawn rise over D.C. He hadn’t slept well – all he could think about was the impending trial. He didn’t know when it would come, but it loomed over him all the same. He sipped at his coffee absentmindedly. Despite his anxiety, he’d resolved to put on a brave face for Bucky – he didn’t want any of his own fears to start worming their way into Bucky’s mind as well. 

He heard the soft pad of footsteps, and turned to see Bucky walking bleary-eyed into the kitchen, still in just his boxers. “Mornin’,” Bucky mumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Despite his troubled thoughts, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little stir of warmth in his loins at the sight of nearly-naked Bucky, the muscles of his legs taut and rippling as he walked, his boxers just tight enough to reveal the strong curve of his buttocks and the telltale bulge of his (what appeared to be half-erect) cock. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Steve replied. 

“What time are we flying up to Avengers Tower, again?” asked Bucky.

“Tony said to show up at ten. We’ve got plenty of time to get breakfast before that. I was thinking maybe we could get pancakes?” Steve suggested. 

“I knew there was a reason I fell for you,” Bucky said, grinning. “I’ll get ready.”

“Wait,” said Steve. “C’mere first.”

Bucky set down his mug of coffee on the countertop and walked up to Steve’s chair, standing over him. Steve put his hands on Bucky’s hips, admiring the velvet-softness of his skin, which remained so lovely despite the many years, and the multitude of scars that years of a soldier’s life had etched across his body. “Well, good morning to you, too,” Bucky said with a grin. He sat down on top of Steve, straddling him as he cupped Steve’s head in his hands, guiding Steve’s mouth to his own. They kissed passionately, Bucky leading Steve deeper and deeper with his deft, sure tongue. 

Pulling away from his lips, Bucky whispered roughly in Steve’s ear, “I want you. Now.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Steve breathed. 

“They’re better still be time for pancakes,” Bucky said as he teasingly ground his hips over Steve, his now-fully-erect cock tracing light circles against Steve’s belly.

“We’ll make time,” Steve replied, the warmth in his loins steadily growing into a fire as Bucky practically _danced_ on him. “Jesus, Buck. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but it’s… you should do it more.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, standing up and dragging Steve to his feet. “But we’ve got places to be. And I need you _right now_ , but I also need a shower, so…” he trailed off, taking Steve by the wrists and leading him towards the bathroom. “I think we can kill two birds with one stone, don’t you?”

Steve was barely listening to Bucky’s words, his concentration compromised by the steady pulse of blood rushing to his cock, getting him harder by the second. “Uh huh,” he replied. Once they reached the bathroom, Bucky released his wrists and turned on the shower, then peeled off his boxers, his naked body resplendent, all firm muscles and strong limbs and big cock, already shining moist at its head. 

Bucky stepped forward towards Steve, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it roughly over Steve’s head, threw it to the floor, and nimbly undid Steve’s belt, pulling his pants and boxers down with one fluid motion. Steve glanced into the bathroom mirror at the reflection of the two of them standing face-to-face, his own muscled body and achingly hard cock straining towards Bucky, who looked just as devastatingly erotic in mirrored profile, his posture almost catlike as he looked ready to pounce on Steve. 

“Get in,” Bucky ordered, pointing at the shower.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, smirking. He stepped into the steam of the bracingly-hot shower – Bucky still liked his water scalding – and waited for Bucky to join him. A few moments later, Bucky stepped in behind him, his right fist working up and down his lubed cock in slow, hungry strokes. With his left hand, he took Steve’s shoulder and guided him, bending him over towards the front of the shower. He guided Steve’s feet apart with his own, and with his hand still on Steve’s shoulder, pressed the tip of his cock firmly into Steve’s ass, entering him with a gentle push. Steve gasped at the sensation, his body tensing at the pressure, then slowly relaxing into it. Steve braced the heels of his hands against the cool tile of the shower wall, arching his back towards his lover. Now that Steve's body had loosened to accept Bucky's cock, Bucky took Steve with sharp, rough thrusts, the slap of wet skin against wet skin echoing through the steam of the shower.

Bucky ran his hand down Steve’s back, then grabbed his hips with both hands, gently angling them upward so he could thrust deeper. “God, Stevie…” Bucky murmured. “Your back is so beautiful.”

“Oh?” Steve gasped out between Bucky’s thrusts, which were growing faster and deeper by the stroke. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice dropping into the low register it always did when he began to talk dirty. “It’s so strong, such a nice line from your shoulders to your hips. I’ve never seen a back as beautiful as yours.”

“I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as _you_ , Bucky,” Steve breathed in response. 

Bucky let out an animal noise, half-sigh, half-growl, and pulled his cock slickly out of Steve. Steve turned around, surprised. As he turned, Bucky reached for the place where Steve’s thighs met his buttocks, and picked him up, slamming him into the shower wall. Steve threw his arms around Bucky as Bucky’s mouth sloppily kissed at his chest, his shoulders, his neck. He entered Steve fully in one long, confident stroke – Steve felt Bucky’s hips quiver as he entered him as deep as he could, feeling the ache of Bucky deep inside him. Steve canted his hips upward, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in deeper with his heels. Bucky held Steve against the wall, his thrusts as hungry as the half-kisses, half-bites he continued to lay onto Steve wherever he could put his mouth.

“Oh, Stevie, oh shit,” Bucky moaned as he released himself into Steve, his whole body trembling. His arms a bit shaky, he slowly lowered Steve back to the ground. “You gotta stop being so irresistible, Stevie,” Bucky chastised him. “You get me off too fast sometimes, you know that?” He sunk to his knees in front of Steve, the water pouring down on him, slicking his hair against his face. “But now it’s your turn.” As he took Steve into his mouth and every nerve in his cock shot sparks, Steve closed his eyes. Despite the fear and the uncertainty, at least he knew two things for sure – he loved Bucky, and Bucky loved him. 

* * *

Bucky devoured his pancakes with a single-minded focus, his still-damp hair pulled back from his face in a bun. A smart choice – Steve was certain that if he’d worn it loose as he normally did, there’d be syrup in his hair by now. Steve looked around the diner. It was the kind of unassuming, greasy spoon place that Bucky loved, where the waitress always finished every sentence with “hon,” and the tables came equipped with little baskets full of individual plastic containers of creamer and jelly. 

“How are your pancakes?” Steve asked.

Bucky gulped down another mouthful. “Great,” he replied. 

“How are you feeling about…?” Steve gestured at Bucky’s left arm, concealed by an oversized hoodie.

Bucky smiled at him. “Ready. It’s time. I want to learn to be myself again, not just a weapon. And I can’t think of a better symbol of that than… than _you_.” Bucky blushed a little, looking down at his half-eaten plate of pancakes.

Steve wasn’t quite sure if it was the too-large bite of pancake he’d just swallowed, or the words Bucky had said, but he felt a lump in his throat either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! When I began writing this chapter, I planned on mostly focusing on Bucky getting his star replaced. But then I decided it need more fun stuff, because a chapter about the process of getting a new design on Bucky's arm would be (pretty much literally) watching paint dry. So instead, I wrote snarky-cultural-reference-Tony, Stucky smut, and pancakes. Hopefully this was more fun for y'all! <3


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I'm including a little content warning for this chapter because it touches on some pretty dark subjects. Specifically, a recollection from his time in WWII that references the Holocaust. It's brief, and I know it's something that a lot of us probably learned quite a lot about in school, but I still wanted to give you all a heads up that it's there.
> 
> And yeah, this chapter is pretty grim, but I promise that Bucky will get more love and pancakes before long! I care about him (and my ever-so-lovely readers) way too much to make this story stay sad for long. <3

**ONE WEEK LATER**

When the call came, Steve still wasn’t prepared. Bucky could tell. Not that he was hard to read – his shaking voice and his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the kitchen counter gave him away. 

“Tony, are you saying—?”

Silence as he listened into the phone.

“At Avengers Tower? _Now_?”

Another tense silence.

“Into _custody_? That’s absurd, he—”

Bucky winced as he heard the Formica of the counter begin to bend under Steve’s grasp.

“Fine. We’ll be there soon. But I swear to God, if they so much as _muss his hair_ , there will be hell to pay.” Steve hung up, and began pacing frantically back and forth across the kitchen. “They’re coming for you,” he finally said, looking sadly at Bucky.

“I kind of inferred that,” said Bucky.

“Tony says they’re playing nice. But I’m still scared, Buck,” Steve said, his voice cracking. 

“Just take me there, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve already been through hell. There’s no way the U.S. government is gonna be worse than HYDRA.”

“I feel like you’re forgetting that for a long time, HYDRA was _inside_ the government,” Steve half-shouted. “I don’t trust them with you, Bucky!”

“Look, Stevie,” Bucky said, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders to halt his pacing. “I know. I don’t trust… well, just about anyone other than you, really. And Sam, and Nat, and T’Challa… and even Tony, I guess. But there’s no other way. I need to do this. I can’t keep running away. I’ve done horrible things. Unforgivable things—”

“That weren’t your fault!” Steve interjected.

“But my hands still carried them out. And if you could see into my memories, Stevie – and God, I’m so damn grateful that you _can’t_ – you’d know that the guilt of it doesn’t go away just because it wasn’t my fault. Because no matter how little control I had, I still have to live with the knowledge that it was _me_ who did those awful things. And until I can start actually doing some good in the world, all that blood on my hands is just gonna keep drowning me.”

Steve had begun to cry, his face turning blotchy and red as tears trickled down his cheeks. Bucky pulled him into an embrace, gently wiping his cheeks dry with his thumbs. “I don’t want – I don’t want them to say all the things they’re going to. They’re gonna try to paint you as… as some kind of monster. And I can’t handle that,” Steve sobbed.

“Shh, Stevie. Darling. I’ve been calling myself that, and much, much worse, for years now. I can handle it. Nothing they can possibly say to me will be worse than what I’ve thought about myself. _Nothing_.” It was true. After he’d pulled Steve’s limp body out of the Potomac and limped his way into hiding, the flood of guilt had been choking. He’d spent days curled on a dirty mattress in an abandoned building, catatonic with the dreadful weight of his newfound conscience. It had felt like he’d spent decades submerged in fetid sludge, only to emerge and find that everything he’d valued about himself had been sloughed away by the his time below the surface. If his accusers could drum up stronger condemnations of him than he’d thought of during that feverish hell on that sick-smelling mattress, he would be genuinely impressed. He still had no idea how he’d survived those first weeks. “Now take a few deep breaths,” Bucky said to the still-crying Steve. “Fly me there, okay? It will be alright. I promise.”

Steve took several shuddering, gasping breaths, leaning into Bucky’s arms. “Okay. But you’d better be right.”

* * *

As Steve descended the Quinjet onto the Avengers Tower landing pad, where a whole squadron of armed men stood in wait near a helicopter, accompanied by Tony in his Iron Man suit, he looked over at Bucky. He’d donned the black tactical jacket and pants he’d worn during their conflict with Tony (as he’d explained to Steve, if he was going to be tried as a soldier, he was damn well going to look the part), and the new red, white, and blue insignia on his arm glinted in the morning light. “Bucky,” Steve said, his voice still shaky, “No matter what happens, I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” said Bucky. He took Steve’s hand in his own. “And don’t you worry your pretty head, Stevie. ‘Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.” He squeezed Steve’s hand reassuringly, then stepped out of the Quinjet with his hands above his head. As the armed men swarmed around him, and his arms were thrown behind his back and locked into reinforced cuffs, he wondered whether he could believe his own reassurances to Steve. _These assholes better not make me break my promise_ , he thought as they roughly led him away. He turned back to look at Steve, looking so heartbroken yet so goddamn beautiful as he stood outside the Quinjet alongside Tony, but one of the men shoved his head down. He heard Steve shout something, and Tony’s voice trying to talk him down, but he before he could think of a way to signal to Steve that really, it was alright, he was already inside the helicopter.

* * *

They must’ve injected him with something strong, because when he woke up, he was in a heavily reinforced cell, and his head pounded like it’d just taken a blow from Mjolnir. From the incessant rumble and crash of waves that seemed to originate from every direction, he could guess where they’d taken him. _The fucking Raft? Really?_ he thought to himself. _That’s overkill._ He massaged his temples. Even looking at the royal blue of the prison jumpsuit they’d dressed him in made his head throb.

Despite his brain-numbing headache, and the fact that he was being held in a cell in a floating supermax prison designed for holding the most dangerous and evil powered beings on earth, he felt lucky. Had he been brought in earlier – say, before Steve knew he was still alive – he’d most likely have just been shot on sight at best, and tortured for information at a black site at worst. He had no idea what HYDRA had implanted in his mind for cases of “enhanced interrogation,” but he felt certain that they’d put some sort of mental cyanide tooth in his brain. Now that he had Steve and the rest of the Avengers on his side, he could feel somewhat confident that his captors would at least pay lip service to the Geneva Conventions. Granted, the Avengers weren’t exactly the universally-adored heroes they’d been when they started out – the complications of trying to do good in the real world had a way of taking good intentions and turning them into collateral damage – but they still pulled some political weight. 

_Shit – if people had seen some of the things that happened during the war through the eyes of all this Twenty-first Century media, they might’ve been protesting us, too._ No matter how hard they’d tried, the Howling Commandos had never been able to save everyone. He could still barely bring himself to think back to the first death camp they’d liberated – the starved-hollow faces of the prisoners, the badges sewn into their shirts, golden stars, black triangles, pink triangles ( _and there but for the grace of God went he_ ) – and how he’d vomited, his vision tunneling, when he found out what the acrid smoke that hung over the camp was coming from. Of all the atrocities he’d borne witness to, that one was the worst. And they’d been powerless to save so many.

_Maybe all of this – all my plans to atone for my sins – maybe it’s all pointless._ He sighed, resting his throbbing head in his hands. _Maybe the world can’t be saved. Maybe I should just give up on being an Avenger and let myself rot on this godforsaken floating hell._ He wrapped his arms around himself, curling into a ball. His right hand curled around his left shoulder, and he pushed up his sleeve, looking down at the new symbol on his arm. A white star on a blue field, ringed by a red circle. An echo of the shield that meant fighting unrelentingly for good, even in the face of impossible odds. The shield that meant never backing down from what he knew to be right. The shield that meant the man he loved, the man he’d loved ceaselessly across almost a century and countless obstacles. If he gave up now, he’d be spitting in the face of everything that shield stood for. _Fuck ‘em all, Stevie. I made you a promise, and I’m gonna keep it. Gonna keep it till the end of the line._

* * *

In a place with no clocks and no windows, time felt less than linear, and more like a slow spiral between sleep, meals (to use the term loosely), and more sleep. He tried to keep his darker thoughts at bay by exercising in his cell – endless pushups, jumps onto the hard concrete slab that passed for a bed – but as it always did when he was alone, his mind spun with memories. Now, at least, he had some good ones. Good ones more recent than the Forties, at least. As he laid on the hard bed, he tried to imagine Steve’s arms around him. He missed Steve’s smell – bright and fresh and clean. Steve hadn’t always smelled like that. Underneath, he had, but Bucky had spent so many nights curled around him back in Brooklyn, the sour smell of fever sweat clinging to Steve’s hair and skin, his frail body trembling against Bucky’s ( _trembling like coming out of cryo, like there was no more warmth left in him – no. Don’t let the memories go there._ )

Bucky started as he heard approaching footsteps. A guard, heavily armed, walked up to his cell, sliding a plate through the slot. 

“What’s on the menu tonight? Wait – is it night?” Bucky asked.

“See for yourself,” said the guard, pointing at the food.

Bucky looked at the plate. It appeared to be some sort of bastard combination of oatmeal and meatloaf.

“Looks delicious,” he grumbled.

“Better watch your tongue, inmate,” said the guard, stepping forward towards his cell. “They’ve told us what you did. Fuckin’ Commie HYDRA scum. How many civilians did you kill, huh?”

“A lot. Too many,” he replied, clenching his jaw.

“You’re a fuckin’ traitor. And when you get to Hell, even Judas is gonna spit on you.”

Bucky looked up at the guard, then slowly took his plate in his hands and stepped back to his bed. The guard scowled at him, then walked away. Bucky set to work on eating the slop. It would’ve been easier if they’d provided some sort of utensil, but since any sort of cutlery could pose a security risk, he had to eat it with his hands. ( _He’d killed too many civilians to keep count, but he could still remember every single one of their faces. He could remember just what they looked like when he’d snuffed out all their hopes and dreams of the future, all their plans and loves and secret joys. He couldn’t forget a single time he’d watched the light flicker out of their eyes, replaced by the flat emptiness of death._ ) He ate until he couldn’t stomach another flavorless bite, and pushed the plate aside. He did pushups until his right arm felt like it was made of rubber, then collapsed into restless sleep. 

In his dream, they were back on the Helicarrier. His target dropped his shield into the river. “You’re my friend,” the man said. He didn’t know what the hell the man was talking about. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t have a name. All he had was a mission. He was on top of the man, punching him, his face turning to bruised and bloody pulp, and the man said some words, but he couldn’t quite hear them over the roar of the Helicarrier’s struggling engines and the sickly-wet smack of his fists into the man’s face. It was only after the man lay still, and he could tell that whatever light may have flickered behind those swollen-shut eyes was long gone, that he realized what the man had said. He grabbed Steve’s lifeless body, clutching him to his chest as the Helicarrier plunged down into the river, and as water swallowed them both, his last thought was _this is a kinder end than I deserve—_

He woke up gasping, his left arm flinging out against the wall. Whatever they’d made the prison out of was reinforced, and the sheer force of his blow caused his arm to ricochet back, hitting himself in the face. As he scrambled to sit up, his heart racing, he looked down and saw that blood was spattering down onto the front of his prison jumpsuit. He’d given himself a bloody nose. Great.

He tried to calm himself. It was just a dream. He named the things around him. Concrete bed. Toilet. Sink. Bars. Half-eaten plate of slop. Blue jumpsuit. Blood stains. He was bad at this whole “grounding techniques” thing. The therapists had told him it would be helpful, but he doubted they’d had many patients try to implement it while being detained on The Raft. 

“That isn’t me any more,” he said out loud, fingers gripping the edge of the bed. ( _He’d been the Winter Soldier, but now he was Bucky Barnes. And Steve Rogers was alive. Steve Rogers was safe. Steve Rogers loved him._ ) 

“Hey, traitor!” he heard a guard yell, accompanied by approaching footsteps. “Time for a date with justice!”

Bucky stood up and hurried to the sink, splashing his face with water, trying to wash away some of the blood.

“Ooh, looks like someone roughed himself up!” said the guard as he stood outside the door of the cell. He was flanked by three other guards. “What happened, Barnes? Did your metal arm get all _Dr. Strangelove_ on you?”

“Lay off it,” Bucky growled. “And who the hell is Dr. Strange… _love_? Is that someone’s _name_?”

“It’s a movie, you piece of shit. It’s got Commies in it, you’d love it.”

One of the guards in the back quietly interjected, “I feel like you’re oversimplifying the themes of the film, Jared…”

“Shut up! And don’t tell him my name!” said the guard in front.

“Just take me where you’re going to,” Bucky said with a sigh. 

The guards entered the cell, and this time, when they stuck the needle in him, he felt it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for suffering along with me through this sad chapter! Up next: Bucky's trial! 
> 
> I've been reading a bunch online about how criminal trials work, and I'm certain I'm gonna get a LOT wrong, but I'm doing my best to write an at least sort-of-believable account of one.


	35. Chapter 35

He came to in the back of an armored van, his head pounding just as it had before. “Ugh,” he groaned.

“Shut up!” said the same guard who had given him his meal, and joked about his bloody nose.

_If it weren’t for these cuffs, I’d be tempted to give this asshole a bloody nose, too._ He savored the idea for a few moments, but instead, he clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the dull throb of pain radiating from behind his eyes. 

The van halted, and the back doors flew open. The guards surrounding him sprang into action, roughly shoving him out of the vehicle. They appeared to be in New York, in front of a courthouse. A huge crowd had gathered, a mix of the press, protesters, and curious onlookers. As the guards escorted him up the steps to the courthouse, dozens of camera flashes went off around him, and each one felt like a nail driven into his already-aching head. He kept his gaze down, trying to focus on the steps. As he stumbled into the building and they led him to the courtroom, he tried to focus on the one good thing in all of this – he was about to see Steve’s face again.

* * *

Steve looked up as the doors of the courtroom opened, his heart pounding. “Bucky,” he murmured like a prayer. Natasha squeezed Steve’s hand as the guards led Bucky into the room. The pit of his stomach went cold when he saw the bloodstains on his jumpsuit, the way he staggered as though he was – _was he sedated?_ – Steve couldn’t tell for sure, but he certainly didn’t look altogether well. Bucky lifted his head, and although his hair was hanging into his face in limp ribbons, his eyes still met Steve’s. His mouth curled into a small smile, and Steve would’ve smiled back if he didn’t feel so much like crying, but before he could do anything, Bucky had been whisked into the defendant’s chair, facing away from him. Steve vowed that whatever had happened to Bucky, he was going to keep it from ever happening again. 

The judge called the court to order, and the prosecution began to list off the charges. Steve could barely listen – lots of counts of treason, espionage, murder – each word made him feel sick. But he couldn’t afford to leave. Bucky needed him. He was going to have to testify. He looked over at Natasha. She gave him a tight-lipped smile that told him she was trying to put on a brave face, but she felt just as scared as he did. Steve turned around, looking back at Tony and T’Challa, who were seated just behind him and Nat. All four of them were testifying. He prayed that their words would be enough. 

After the defense attorney made her statement, Natasha was called to the witness stand.

“Can you introduce yourself to the court, ma’am?” asked the judge.

“My name is Natalia Romanoff, although I’m better known as Natasha Romanoff. I’ve operated with the Avengers and worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years, ever since I defected to the United States from the Black Widow program.”

“How did you meet the defendant?” asked the prosecutor.

“We met in the Red Room. It was a secret spy and assassin training base in the U.S.S.R., where I became part of the Black Widow program. I met him there. He trained me.”

“And what did he train you in?”

“Combat,” replied Natasha.

“Ms. Romanoff, was the purpose of this training to carry out missions against other states?”

“Yes, it was.”

“And the defendant trained you in these skills?”

“He did,” said Natasha. “But he didn’t do it of his own free will.”

“After this initial meeting, did you have any further contact with the defendant?” the prosecutor asked.

“Yes,” replied Natasha.

“And what was the nature of that further contact?”

“He… ah… Well, he shot me. And then he shot me on another occasion as well. After that, we fought in hand-to-hand combat when he escaped U.N. custody, and then I met him again during another fight, and assisted in his and Steve Roger’s efforts to acquire a Quinjet.”

The jury murmured amongst themselves.

“And why did you choose to assist him in unlawfully commandeering a Quinjet that was government property?”

Natasha sighed. “He and Steve – Steve Rogers – were trying to prevent what we believed to be an attempted activation of the other four Russian-based HYDRA operatives under the Winter Soldier program. I was in favor of the Sokovia Accords, but when I learned more of the details of the accusations against James Barnes, as well as the man who’d framed him and was allegedly planning to activate the other Winter Soldiers, I decided that I should set aside my political priorities for the sake of preventing a possibly catastrophic threat.”

The questioning continued, until finally the defense attorney began her cross-examination. Tony had hired her, and he’d assured Steve that she was the best of the best. Steve certainly hoped she was.

“Thinking back to when you first met Mr. Barnes in the Red Room, how would you describe him?”

“He was…” Natasha paused, thinking for a moment, “He was incredibly skilled as a fighter. Highly trained. But he always seemed lost. I remember once, we were alone for a few minutes. I… I may have had a bit of a crush on him. A lot of the girls did. I remember asking him if he had a name. He said that he didn’t, that his handlers just called him ‘soldier’ or referred to him as ‘the asset.’ He always had a look about him like he was missing something, but he couldn’t remember what it was.”

“Did the defendant ever indicate that he’d volunteered for his role in the Winter Soldier program, or make mention of defecting to HYDRA or the U.S.S.R.?”

“No. Never. I asked him where he came from once, and he said he didn’t know.”

“Do you believe that the defendant was acting under his own free will when he shot you, on either occasion?”

“Absolutely not,” said Natasha. “He was brainwashed. And now that I know him as he is when he’s _not_ under mind control, I’m even more certain of that. Bucky – James Barnes, I mean – is a kind and loyal man. He would never do the things he did as the Winter Soldier of his own free will.”

Steve listened to the questions as they seemingly droned on forever. Evidence was drawn out for review – the red book Zemo had stolen with the Winter Soldier mind control triggers in it, all the Winter Soldier files Natasha had acquired for him. Tony was called to the stand, and then T’Challa. Each of them spoke at length about how Bucky was clearly not culpable for the crimes of the Winter Soldier. The jury had gasped as Tony haltingly recounted how he’d learned about the true nature of his parents’ death, and how he’d come to realize that it was HYDRA, not Bucky, who’d been his parents’ murderer.

_Why do they have to call me up last from the witnesses?_ Steve wondered, sighing. _And what do I have to do to make sure that whatever they did to Bucky when he was in custody doesn’t happen again?_

Finally, he was called to the stand. As he walked past Bucky, he cast him a desperate glance. _Please just signal that you’re okay, Buck. Please. Somehow._ Bucky gave him a pained-looking half-smile. Steve’s stomach did flips as he took the witness stand. _If I mess this up, I ruin everything._

“Sir, will you introduce yourself to the court?” asked the judge.

“My name is Steve Rogers. You probably know me as Captain America.”

“Mr. Rogers,” said the prosecutor, “How did you and the defendant meet?”

“We met on the schoolyard. I was… well, I was getting shoved around. A few kids were trying to take my lunch money, just to provoke me. Bucky was a year older and a whole lot stronger, and he chased them away, and asked if I was okay. Ever since that day, we were best friends.”

“It’s my understanding that you rescued the defendant from a HYDRA-run prison camp where human experimentation occurred. Did you notice any personality changes in the defendant after his time in the camp? Were there any signs that he may have been indoctrinated into Nazism or HYDRA?”

Steve clenched his jaw. “Are you accusing a _prisoner of war_ of being a traitor? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

“Order!” said the judge. “Please, Mr. Rogers. Answer the question.”

He took a deep breath. _Flying off the handle won’t help Bucky. Hold it together._ “There were no signs of indoctrination, no. He was a less happy-go-lucky than he’d been back in Brooklyn, but that’s how human beings respond to going to war. It changes you. But even with those changes, he was always the same Bucky underneath.”

“During the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Barnes fought you on one of the Helicarriers. Can you describe the nature of the injuries he inflicted on you?”

“Um…” Steve hesitated, looking down at Bucky. Bucky looked away, at the table in front of him, his hair obscuring his face. “Stab wounds. Multiple gunshots. Contusions on my face. But he… he saved my life. He pulled me out of the river.”

“Objection,” said the prosecutor. “That last statement wasn’t a response to my question.”

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Jurors, please disregard Mr. Roger’s last statement.”

Steve clenched his fists. They couldn't put him up there and make him say whatever they wanted him to. He may have played the monkey once, but he wouldn't do it any more.

“When you decided to bring the defendant back from Wakanda to the United States, did you believe that he was no longer the Winter Soldier?”

“I did,” said Steve.

“And when he then was triggered and fled the country, how were you sure it was because of this alleged brainwashing, and not a desire to resume his former life?”

“Well, for one, he fled the country after having his trigger phrase read to him. And secondly, I know that he didn’t want to leave,” explained Steve.

“Mr. Rogers, can you elaborate on what you mean by that last point?”

“I had reason to believe that he was happy to be with me.”

“What, specifically, gave you that impression?”

“Well, he’s my best friend.” Bucky looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky’s my best friend in the whole damn world, but the night before…” He looked down at Bucky, who nodded as if to say, _just tell them_. Steve’s hands were numb and trembling, but he knew that he should be brave. The skinny, sickly, teenager from Brooklyn who’d always looked away, filled with self-loathing, whenever Bucky had changed clothes in front of him – that part of him was terrified. But he knew that the Steve Rogers who’d come out of the ice, the man who the world knew as Captain America – he needed to be brave. He needed to speak the truth. Because he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the truth would set Bucky free. 

“The night before,” Steve continued, taking a deep breath, “We told each other we loved each other.” He paused and gulped. “Ah… romantically,” he added awkwardly.

A chorus of surprised whispers and gasps rose out of the courtroom.

“Order!” the judge reprimanded. 

Steve’s head spun, but he kept his eyes focused on Bucky, who smiled up at him, despite his blood-stained jumpsuit and stress-gaunt face, with a look of adoration in his eyes that made Steve’s knees weak. 

The rest of the questioning went by in a blur. The defense attorney had him describe in detail everything he knew about the Winter Soldier program – which was quite a lot – and the jury had seemed suitably shocked and horrified by the various tortures HYDRA had put Bucky through. 

Finally, he was released from the witness stand, and the attorneys began to question Bucky himself. Steve could barely focus on it all, his heart was pounding so hard, but by the end of it, after Bucky’s firsthand descriptions of the HYDRA brainwashing techniques, it was abundantly obvious that he’d be acquitted. However, it was getting late, and the judge informed the court that it was time to go home for the night, but that they’d convene again in the morning. As everyone began rising from their seats, Tony leaned forward, tapping Steve on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “That was really brave of you.”

“Thanks,” said Steve. “I’m just worried about Bucky, I don’t want anything bad to—” 

“I _may_ have made a few calls during one of my bathroom breaks,” said Tony, smiling conspiratorially. “I saw him when he walked in, too. He looked like a walking civil rights violation. I called in a few favors, made a few choice threats about lawsuits and lawyers, and I’ve got it all arranged. Unfortunately, you still won’t be able to see him, but he’ll be kept in custody in a secure room in the basement of Stark Tower. It’s… unconventional, sure, but these are unusual circumstances.”

“Tony, I could kiss you,” Steve said, almost on the verge of tears from his words. As they shuffled out of the courtroom, exhausted, Steve hoped Bucky felt the same relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony playing the "don't you know who I am?" card to a bunch of government officials is something I'd _love_ to see.
> 
> Also, writing Steve coming out publicly made me tear up a little. Even if he was super-awkward about it... :P


	36. Chapter 36

The next morning, Steve, Natasha, and T’Challa prepared a simple breakfast together in the common room kitchen of Avengers Tower. Tony had put them all up for the night. Even though he hadn’t been able to see Bucky, it made Steve feel a little better knowing he was safe in the same building as him. 

Natasha stirred a simmering pot of steel-cut oats, and Steve diced apples to sprinkle on top of their oatmeal, when Tony marched into the kitchen, laptop open and balanced on his forearm. “Morning!” he said. “Steve, I hate to hassle you with this first thing in the morning, but I thought you might want to see what the headlines are saying about the trial. Specifically your whole ‘coming out publicly’ thing.”

“Oh boy,” muttered Natasha. “I should’ve known. I got a text from Sam about it being on the news this morning.”

“Okay,” sighed Steve. “Show me.”

“Now, keep in mind, some of these papers are pretty much tabloids, so they might not be the most… tactful.”

“Just show me.”

Tony set his laptop down on the kitchen island, letting Steve scroll through a whole slew of headline search results. Steve read them, squinting at the laptop and shaking his head.

“‘Red, White, and… Gay!’ I’m not _gay_ , though. I’m… well, I’ve never really said it out loud, but I guess I’m bisexual?”

“I’m sure if you write a letter to the editor to set the record straight, they’ll be happy to fix it,” said Tony, rolling his eyes. “Although setting it 'straight' is a poor choice of words…”

“Okay, I get what this headline is referencing. ‘ _From Russia With Love_ ,’ that’s the title of a _James Bond_ film!” As Steve spoke, Natasha nodded proudly. “But what’s ‘The Spy Who Shagged Captain America’ all about?”

“Well,” said Tony. “ _The Spy Who Shagged Me_ is the second _Austin Powers_ movie. Nat, you’re really dropping the ball on his cultural education!”

Natasha just rolled her eyes. 

“Well, this one is really straight to the point, if a little inaccurate: ‘Captain America Gay.’”

“These are tabloids. Don’t expect nuance there,” sighed Natasha. “You should’ve seen what they said about me after the HYDRA leaks. As soon as the papers put my past and my name together, I was up to my ears in _Rocky and Bullwinkle_ jokes.”

“Okay, I guess some of these aren’t quite so ridiculous. _The New York Times_ says ‘Winter Soldier Trial Takes an Unexpected Turn as Steve Rogers Reveals Romance Between Himself, James Buchanan Barnes.’”

Natasha smiled to herself, spooning oatmeal into bowls for each of them, then sprinkling chopped apples on top. “You were brave, Steve. I know Bucky is proud of you,” she said, handing him a bowl.

“Thanks,” said Steve. “I didn’t feel brave. And thanks for the oatmeal.”

“You were, though,” added T’Challa. “My father always told me that the secret to defeating fear is not to avoid feeling it, but to feel it and do what must be done anyway.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. I’d spent so long pretending that that part of me didn’t exist, and I wish I’d been braver sooner. Not just for myself, but for Bucky.”

“I’m sure he understands,” said Nat.

“I know he does, but… I think it may have been even harder on him than on me. Because at least I was always interested in women, too. I was always so jealous of him – and also for him – because he got so many dates. But now that I know he went along with it all to keep up appearances, to keep who he really was secret…”

“You Americans have so many strange taboos,” said T’Challa. “Of all the things to conceal about oneself, why love?”

“It’s better now than when I was young,” Steve replied. “It’s not perfect now, by any means. But back then, people thought it was unnatural. Like you’d be insulting God or something. And for a guy to want to be with another guy… well, in most people’s eyes, that made him less of a man.”

“How ridiculous,” T’Challa said, shaking his head. “In Wakanda, that kind of scorn is reserved for those who display cowardice in battle, or dishonor our families or the memories of our ancestors.”

“Hmm, Steve, maybe you should’ve been Captain Wakanda!” teased Tony.

“There would be no need. The Black Panther protects Wakanda,” T’Challa said with a smile, but it was obvious from the proud angle of his head that his words were more than just a joke.

Steve smiled into his bowl of oatmeal. Despite his nerves about the outcome of the trial, and the undeniable anxiety that coming out to the world had caused, he felt grateful. Nothing came easy in the world of the Avengers, but at least he had friends on his side. 

* * *

When they pulled up to the courthouse, their car was immediately surrounded by members of the press, shoving cameras in their faces and desperately trying to get something, anything, that they could turn into a headline or sound bite. 

“Mr. Rogers! Can I get a statement on your shocking revelation from yesterday?”

“Cap! Did you intend your comments about your relationship with the defendant as a message to LGBT youth struggling with coming out?”

“Rogers! Steve Rogers! Can I get a comment—”

They made their way through the crowd, up the courthouse steps, blinding camera flashes in their faces.

“Sam just texted me,” said Nat. “He says, ‘All the news says they’re expecting an acquittal. Smiley face.’”

“Good,” said Steve. “I just want this whole ordeal to be over.” He wouldn’t be able to truly relax until Bucky was out of handcuffs and back in his arms. 

As they took their seats in the courtroom, Steve’s heart hammered against his chest. In just a few short minutes, he would see Bucky. _I hope he slept well_ , Steve thought. _I hope he didn’t have nightmares. I hate the idea of him having a nightmare and me not being there to comfort him. God, I miss him._

When the police officers led Bucky into the courtroom, Steve craned his neck to see how he looked. Better, much better. They’d given him a clean jumpsuit, and he actually looked like he’d _slept_ sometime in the past few days. Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky caught his eye and nodded, and Steve gave him an encouraging smile. As the police sat Bucky down in the defendant’s seat, Steve’s pulse began to settle back into a normal rhythm. 

The judge called the court to order, and deliberations continued. Finally, the attorneys made their closing statements, and the jury left to make their decision.

Natasha leaned over, whispering in Steve’s ear, “It’s almost over. When they let him go, I’m thinking we surprise him with pancakes?”

“He’ll love that,” replied Steve. “ _If_ they acquit.”

“They’ll acquit,” replied Natasha. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m just…” Steve paused, taking a slow breath in. “I’m still scared.”

Natasha sighed. “Me too,” she confessed. “But we gotta have faith, Steve. Your whole thing is believing in people, right? The jury… they’re people. They’ve been presented with the facts, and they’re gonna see the truth. We just need to believe in them.”

Steve nodded, looking up at the back of Bucky’s head, so far away across the courtroom. All he wanted was the run forward, run to Bucky, take him in his arms and hold him close. Instead, he had to wait, seemingly forever, for the jury.

After the longest hour of Steve Roger’s life, the jury returned. The foreman of the jury stood and spoke – at least, it seemed that way to Steve – agonizingly slowly. “We find the defendant not guilty on all counts.”

Steve hadn’t even noticed how he’d been gripping Nat’s hand anxiously until the jury announced the verdict, when he squeezed her fingers so hard she let out a little half-yelp.

“Sorry,” Steve said, apologetic, but barely about to contain the smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t be,” said Nat, wrapping her arms around him in an enthusiastic bear hug. “Now let’s get Bucky those pancakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Bucky! 
> 
> Even if poor Steve is on the bi erasure struggle bus...
> 
> And for those who might not be familiar with _Rocky and Bullwinkle_ , [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natasha_Fatale) is what Nat's referring to.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Writing these trial chapters has been hard -- apparently I'm not cut out to be a courtroom drama writer! Expect some fluff tomorrow. <3


	37. Chapter 37

As he felt the police officer behind him unlocking his cuffs, the only thing he could focus on was about twenty feet behind him, dressed in a navy blue suit, with tidily combed blond hair. The days he’d spent locked away in The Raft, his skin had been haunted by the ghosts of Steve’s touch, longing for the gentle caress of his fingers, the smooth press of his chest and belly against his back, the yielding openness of his lips. He turned, his wrists free and the officers stepping away from him, and saw that Steve was already walking to him, clearly trying to resist the urge to run down the aisle of the courtroom. 

And then, at last, Steve threw himself into Bucky’s arms, and Bucky clung to him with a tender desperation that Steve returned in kind. 

“Thank God,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s ear, the subtle tremble in his hands telling Bucky just how scared he’d been that the outcome could have been different.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be unequivocally happy, but the nagging voice in the back of his mind kept whispering _you don’t deserve this_. But no matter what he felt, and no matter how much he doubted his own worth, there was one thing he knew for sure – Steve deserved to be happy. And right now, Steve was undeniably happy. 

“Did they hurt you?” Steve asked, stepping back and holding Bucky at arms’ length, scrutinizing him for any signs of injury.

“No,” said Bucky. “I mean, the guards were assholes, but what can you expect from guards on The Raft?”

“Wait—” Steve asked indignantly. “They took you to The Raft?” 

“Where else would they take me?” asked Bucky. “It’s not like they’re gonna throw a guy like me in county.”

“Did they hurt you there? I saw the blood.”

“Oh, that was me. I had a nightmare,” Bucky replied. He looked away from Steve, not wanting to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that Steve wouldn’t understand – he definitely would. And it wasn’t that Steve hadn’t already seen Bucky jolt awake from dozens of nightmares – he definitely had. But he didn’t want Steve to ask what he’d been dreaming about when he gave himself a bloody nose. It was horrible enough to dream about killing the love of his life. He didn’t want to have to talk about it. Talking about it made the nightmare seem more real somehow. Even thinking about it caused a numbing chill to crawl up his legs and settle into the pit of his stomach. 

Mercifully, Steve didn’t ask for details. “Thank God,” he sighed again, pulling Bucky back into his arms. Bucky let himself fall against Steve, allowing himself to feel small and protected in his arms. “I love you, Bucky. I love you so much. And now the whole world knows, and I don’t care.”

As Steve pulled Bucky into a kiss, the flash of news cameras glared through his closed lids. Here they were, Steve in his suit and tie and Bucky in his prisoner’s jumpsuit, kissing in a courtroom. _What would the Howling Commandos say if they could see us now?_ Bucky wondered.

As their lips parted, Steve whispered in Bucky’s ear, “We have a change of clothes waiting for you in the car, and then Nat wants to take out for a special surprise.”

* * *

“Really, you shouldn’t have,” he said to Nat as he prepared to shove another slightly-too-large bite of syrup-drizzled pancake into his mouth.

“This is a big day,” she said, “and I figured we should celebrate with something you love.”

He looked at Steve, seated in the booth beside him, and considered making a cheesy joke about how what he loved most was sitting next to him, but decided against it. Anyway, his mouth was full. 

Nat, Tony, and Sam – who had flown up to join them in New York for Bucky’s celebration meal – sat on the other side of the booth. Bucky had never imagined a moment like this. He’d been unable to imagine happiness for years. Ever since the train. No, not since the train – since he’d come back with Steve from the HYDRA POW camp and realized that suddenly, Steve was _gorgeous_ , not just to him, but to everyone. When he realized that if it wasn’t Peggy, some other lovely dame would surely catch his eye. When he realized that it would be a cold day in Hell before Steve ever loved him how he wanted to be loved. He'd been horribly selfish to resent it. After all, how many times had he prayed for Steve's lungs to be just a bit stronger, for him to be big enough to defend himself when Bucky wasn't there to protect him? But he’d spent many cold years in Hell as the Winter Soldier, and somehow, despite it all, he’d finally gotten the only thing he ever really wanted. And yes, pancakes were good, what mattered was Steve Rogers, that skinny little punk in the body of a god who'd somehow kept the same soul inside him through it all. 

Now, somehow, he had Steve, and friends, and pancakes, and he’d been acquitted of all the Winter Soldier’s atrocities in a court of law, and it all felt surreal. 

Bucky lurched out of his internal musings thanks to Sam, who’d formed his paper napkin-ring into a little paper triangle and flicked it at Bucky’s forehead. “Shit!” he exclaimed slightly-too-loudly as the harmless projectile bounced off his furrowed brow.

“Ground control to Major Barnes,” said Sam.

“I was a sergeant, actually,” Bucky corrected him.

Tony snorted. “You two are too much,” he said, gesturing with his fork at Steve and Bucky.

“What?” asked Bucky.

“Sam was quoting song lyrics,” Natasha explained.

“What song is that?” asked Steve. 

“Nat, I’m telling you, you’re dropping the ball on their cultural education. First _Austin Powers_ , and now Bowie?” said Tony.

“Oh, lay off it. We’ve had a lot of catching up to do,” Natasha replied, rolling her eyes. 

“What do you want to do after this, Bucky?” asked Steve.

“I…” he trailed off. On one hand, he wanted to spend time with his friends. On the other, he really wanted some alone time with Steve. He figured that perhaps he could have some of both. He was still getting used to the whole “actually having friends” thing. And as much as he wanted to just spend the whole day in bed with Steve, he also realized that every person sitting in the booth with him enriched his life in ways he couldn’t explain. “I think I want to spend some time at Avengers Tower with you all,” he said, looking down, worried that he was going to come across as excessively earnest. “I just… I really appreciate you. All of you. Thank you for being my friends. I haven’t had friends since the war, and I just want you all to know how much you mean to me.” He paused, and then stuttered, “Sorry.”

Natasha reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Don’t be sorry. We’re all thankful that we get to be your friend.”

“It’s true,” said Sam, his face uncharacteristically serious. “When you reappeared back in D.C., Steve told us about you. I remember what he said. He said, ‘Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.’ And I understand what he meant by that, now. Anyone who means that much to Steve means a whole damn lot to me. And now I understand why you mattered so much to him that he was willing to risk everything to save you. You’re worth saving, Bucky.” Tony just nodded, giving Bucky an encouraging smile.

He couldn’t help it. The tears would come whether he fought them or not, so he let them come, blurring his vision. Embarrassed but happy, he couldn't meet Sam's eyes. Those words, _you’re worth saving_ , echoed in his mind. He didn’t believe them fully, not just yet, but he held on to them nonetheless.

Steve wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head tenderly. Bucky smiled through his tears down at his pancakes. “Lemme eat these before they get cold, Stevie,” he said with a grin, and Steve gave him one more kiss, then let him get back to his meal.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is unquestioning of Bucky's motives, Bucky is a horny little shit, and both boys surprise each other a little. 
> 
> Yep, this chapter is mostly porn. Enjoy!

That evening, back in Avengers Tower, the five friends relaxed in the common room in their sweats, munching on popcorn and watching – at Tony’s insistence – _Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery_. Tony spread out on his own couch, with Sam and Nat on their own, and Steve and Bucky sharing a couch as well.

“I really think you two should find this relatable,” said Tony. “He gets cryogenically frozen and wakes up in a different decade!” 

Steve gave Tony a skeptical look. 

“I mean, he has a point,” said Sam, shrugging, before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

Bucky curled himself up on the couch next to Steve, nestling in close to him. Steve contentedly put his arm around Bucky, and resigned himself to watching the movie. It was a bit crude for his taste, but everyone else seemed to think it was hilarious. A few minutes in, Bucky stood up. 

“Where you going, Buck?” Steve asked.

“I’m cold. Gonna grab the comforter off the bed.”

“Okay,” said Steve. Bucky did hate being cold. It was one of the many small ways that his years as the Winter Soldier had changed him. Back in Brooklyn, Bucky had always been happy to volunteer most of his blankets to Steve on cold winter nights. Steve had always protested, half concerned for Bucky’s comfort, half indignant that Bucky though him as an invalid. Never mind that he definitely qualified as one, with his rattling lungs and recurring fevers. But he still hated to admit that his soon-to-be-classified-as-4F frame couldn’t cope with something as insignificant as a cold night. But now, Bucky was the one pulling extra blankets from the linen closet in Steve’s hallway on chilly evenings. A funny sort of sadness washed over Steve as he realized that there were probably endless small ways that Bucky had changed that he would never know about, never even notice. Between his transformation and Bucky’s, it sometimes felt like they’d known each other in entirely different lives.

Bucky padded back into the common room, the comforter cocooned around him so that he resembled some sort of man-marshmallow hybrid. He flopped back down next to Steve, spreading the comforter over both of them, and leaned onto Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve redirected his attention back to the movie. Although he kind of hated to admit it, some of the jokes were pretty funny. He relaxed into the couch, into Bucky, into the good-natured company of friends. _I hope you’re warm enough, Bucky_ , he thought as he pressed a small kiss into Bucky’s sweet-smelling hair.

* * *

As he curled against the warmth of Steve’s body, Bucky decided to bide his time before revealing his ulterior motivations for fetching the comforter. He hadn’t been lying – he really had been cold. But he also wasn’t sure he could bear to wait through an entire movie before getting his hands all over Steve. The pillowy featurelessness of the bedding he’d draped over them would provide ample cover for that. He’d had plenty of practice quietly getting himself off under blankets – sharing a room with Steve, with only a shared bathroom down the hall, had necessitated it. And he remembered how rock-hard Steve had been when they’d blown each other on the hospital bed, how the tension of potential discovery had clearly made his whole body electric with arousal. 

It had the same effect on him, too. It was a fetish borne of all the late nights and early mornings he’d silently, breathlessly brought himself off under the covers across the room from sleeping Steve, listening intently for any rustles or shifts in breathing that might warn him that Steve was stirring. He’d tried to think of anonymous, faceless bodies, but the one thing that always brought him off without fail – although the fantasy made him feel dirty as he masturbated, and made it hard to meet Steve’s eye for the rest of the morning – was imagining Steve waking up without Bucky noticing, and seeing his hand rhythmically working his cock under the blankets, walking over to him, lifting away the covers, and—

God. He was getting hard just _remembering_ his youthful fantasy. He smiled wistfully to himself, wondering if Steve’s own clear excitement at the risk of getting caught in the act had stemmed from his own version of the same fantasy. After all, it wasn’t as though Bucky had fallen asleep last, or woken up first, every day.

Thinking about Steve touching himself furtively, trying to avoid making noise and waking Bucky, back in the sepia-tinted glow of their Brooklyn memories, was only making his cock harder under the comforter. He wanted to savor the hunger of desire, to feel the white-hot throb of lust settle into his belly like it was the molten core of his being. And he wanted Steve right there with him.

Slowly, careful not to visibly move his shoulder, Bucky slid his left hand from its resting place on Steve’s chest, down his belly. The sensors in his hand, as sensitive as synthetic nerves, picked up the tantalizing warmth of Steve’s lower belly. He planed his palm across Steve’s crotch, feeling his cock, soft but still formidably sized, through his sweatpants. As he cupped his fingers around Steve’s balls, gently lifting them into his palm, he looked up into his eyes. Steve gave him a wide-eyed look, somewhere between alarmed and aroused. Bucky smirked up at him – their friends were all turned to the television, laughing along to the movie – and raised one eyebrow. 

Steve turned his gaze back to the screen, blushing a delicate shade of pink, but he eased his thighs subtly apart, and Bucky felt a growing hardness rising against his sweatpants, pressing into Bucky’s wrist as he fondled Steve’s balls gently. 

Wanting more, Bucky slowly moved his hand back up to the waistband of Steve’s sweats, easing his hand inside. His fingers brushed their way through the coarse thicket of hair, humid with Steve’s heat and arousal. Bucky found the base of Steve’s cock, firm and already all-but-throbbing from the strength of his erection. Tentatively, Bucky gave it a few slow, testing strokes, watching the comforter for any visible signs of movement. 

Steve sat perfectly still, except for the hand resting on Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers gripping his metal arm right over its shield emblem. Bucky turned to the television, pretending to pay attention to the movie, but he kept half an eye on Steve’s face, watching his reactions. They were subtle, not necessarily visible unless you were looking for them – his pupils dilated wide, his breath shallow, a gentle flush tinting his cheeks. Bucky kept his hand moving slowly up and down Steve’s cock, his thumb smoothing over the head to slick pre-come down the shaft, easing his teasingly languid strokes. He wanted to keep Steve hard and ready and wanting, so the second they were alone, Steve would be _begging_ to take his cock.

“Anyone want more popcorn?” asked Sam. Bucky smirked to himself as Steve tried to create a façade of composure before answering. In an effort to be helpful, Bucky stilled his hand, resting it around the base of Steve’s cock.

“I’m good,” said Nat.

“Same,” said Tony.

“Steve, Bucky – want more?” asked Sam. 

Steve swallowed. “No, thank you,” he replied, his delivery ever-so-slightly too stiff.

“Damn, just me? Okay,” said Sam, getting up to pop another bag. 

_I know you like to always play the good boy_ , Bucky thought as he looked up at Steve, his hand resuming it’s slow-motion stimulation, _But you love it when I make you be a little bad with me._ The feeling of Steve’s cock in his hand, hot and weighty, was making Bucky painfully hard. His cock longed to be touched, aching with his pulse and dampening the front of his own sweatpants with the steady leak of pre-come. But he would wait. Steve loved it when Bucky was bold and outrageous, but he preferred to stick to living vicariously. 

Sam returned and took a seat, and a few moments after, Bucky very nearly _jumped_ under the comforter as Steve’s hand slid into his sweatpants, wrapping around his cock, and his nerves exploded white-hot with pent-up arousal. It was all he could do to keep from moaning and letting his eyes roll back in his head. 

After seemingly endless secret foreplay (and watching a movie full of cultural references that, to Bucky, might as well have come from a different planet), their friends finally all pattered off to bed. 

“I think we’ll just relax here in the common room together for a bit,” said Steve, decidedly not budging from under the comforter. 

Natasha gave them a pointed look, followed by a knowing smile. Bucky didn’t think even Nat had noticed their covert pleasure, but it was hard to tell with her. Regardless, she clearly knew they didn’t plan on “relaxing” in any traditional sense. After they all departed, Steve rearranged himself on the couch, still under the comforter, leaning his back on the armrest and spreading his legs with crooked knees. 

“Don’t make me wait any longer, Buck,” he begged. “Give it to me.”

Bucky ducked under the covers, pulling Steve’s sweatpants and underwear down in one swift motion. He removed Steve’s shirt, and then his own clothes. He intended to make Steve wait a _little_ longer – he savored the feeling of Steve’s aching desire, of the animal urge to dominate his lover, to bend him gratefully to his will. 

Crawling up towards Steve under the comforter, he filled his nose with the heady smell of Steve, the musk of his arousal making every nerve in Bucky’s body sing with pure-white heat. Lifting Steve’s hips up, Bucky pressed his tongue hungrily against Steve’s ass, tasting warm skin as he hardened his tongue as if to make it into a cock, pushing it into Steve. He gave light, teasing flicks against the firm ring of muscle, until Steve’s body acquiesced to his efforts and allowed him in deeper, tasting the inside of Steve, slicking his ass with spit. 

Bucky couldn’t bear to hold himself back any more, and crawled up on top of Steve, seizing his hips roughly as he aligned the tip of his throbbing cock with Steve’s saliva-wet ass. He entered him roughly, hungrily, and Steve bit back a cry. But Steve’s body was strong – he could endure more than virtually any man – and Bucky intended to take advantage of that. The heat and tightness of Steve was almost unbearable, Bucky’s cock aching from the entering the nexus of its pleasure. Normally, he would go slow, savor the moment, try to extend the sweet suffering of riding the edge of orgasm. But he was like a starving man before a feast, and Steve’s face, mouth open and eyes shut in a glorious silent cry of ecstasy, and the feeling of his ass taking in his cock, so hot and tight and somehow still _yielding_ to him, were too much to hold back from. Rutting into him furiously, his hips slapping into Steve’s spread-open ass and thighs, Bucky came, the built-up tension of his meted out arousal bursting out of him like a bomb going off in his nerves. He gasped, giving a few final thrusts, feeling his cock sliding slick with his come inside Steve. 

The last thrusts must have hit Steve’s prostate, because Steve cried out, his face crinkling into a mask of pleasure, and Bucky felt sticky-hot ribbons of come splatter across his chest and belly. “Bucky…” he murmured weakly, reaching his hand up to smooth over Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky smiled down at Steve, his cock still inside him. “I’ve always loved it when you’re a little bad with me, my perfect darling.”

“It’s not bad when it’s with you,” said Steve, smiling up at Bucky. “Wherever you take me, it’s always worth it.”

Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve. “And where shall I take you next?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Steve smiled up at him with an earnestness that melted his heart. “To the shower, and then to bed.”

“Yes, Captain.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends!
> 
> This chapter marks the beginning of the final arc of this fic. I'm not sure precisely how many more chapters it'll come out to -- I'd say you can definitely expect at least 4 or 5 more. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's followed along! When I started writing this fic, I never would've predicted that I'd get this far, or get as much positive reception as I have. I'm incredibly grateful for it. And thanks especially to those folks (you know who you are) who so consistently leave such kind comments. It really brightens my day to hear from you. <3 
> 
> And once I've completed this particular fic, I'll definitely still be around. Not with daily updates, at least for a while -- it's a lot of work! -- but I've been having _way_ too much fun here to disappear! 
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Steve and Bucky are both kind of buttheads in it, but hey -- they're really good at kissing (*ahem*) and making up.

**ONE WEEK LATER**

“I don’t care _how_ many times you’ve fought, you still need to practice, Buck. And anyway, I think you might have some things to teach everyone, especially our newer recruits.” Although he didn’t say it, he mostly meant Wanda Maximoff.

“I don’t see the point. Wanda can move things with her _mind_. I know how to assassinate people the old-fashioned way. I don’t know what the hell you expect me to teach them, but somehow I don’t think Scarlet Witch is itching to learn how to know when to garrote someone and when to slit their throat with a hunting knife instead.”

Steve sighed. Bucky was being stubborn. Outright defensive, even. They were driving to the New Avengers Facility to train with the team. Bucky, however, was less than thrilled by the prospect of their trip. “I’m sure you could teach them a thing or two about tactics. Focus. Discipline. Even being able to move things with your mind doesn’t necessarily make you battle-ready. I learned that the hard way in Lagos. We threw Wanda into the thick of it long before she was ready. She did her best, but with more training… well, maybe things could’ve worked out differently.”

Bucky shook his head. “The last people I trained were the other Winter Soldiers. Before that, I trained in the Red Room. I don’t think I know how to train as an Avenger. I know how to train as a HYDRA operative, but I don’t think that approach would go over well.”

“Well, no matter how much actual teaching you do, you still need to practice. I won’t let you go on missions with us if you don’t. I can’t put you out there in harm’s way if I haven’t done everything I can to make sure you’re ready,” said Steve, his tone commanding.

Bucky snorted derisively. “ _Please_. Spare me the lecture. I spent _years_ training while you were on ice. You don’t get to tell me about the importance of training. It was all I did. I didn’t get to have a life, not outside of my orders. While you were playing Sleeping Beauty in the Arctic, I was on missions.”

Steve recoiled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, more hurt by Bucky’s words than he wanted to let on. “Please, Bucky,” he finally stammered. “I just want to keep you safe.”

Bucky sighed, looking out the window at the passing scenery. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just that you do this thing all the time – talking about things that go wrong like they’re always your fault. You never say, ‘Oh, that was bad luck, we couldn’t have predicted that.’ It’s always, ‘Oh no, it’s all my fault, if only I had done such-and-such thing differently!’ You’re doing it with Wanda’s accident now, and I know you did it with me during the war. And it’s fucking _stupid_ , Stevie! You’re Captain America, sure, but you’re still just _one man_. You can do your best to prepare for every possible contingency, but sometimes things still go to shit. If there’s one thing I learned from my time as the Winter Soldier, it’s that sometimes things that happen are outside of your control. And if you keep beating yourself up every time someone close to you makes a mistake, you’re just gonna wind up paralyzed by it.”

Steve shook his head. “You don’t get it, Bucky. These people are looking to me as a leader. If bad things happen on my watch, it’s my responsibility.”

“You can’t predict everything,” Bucky replied. “I’ll come train with the rest of the team, but I can’t promise that it’ll be pretty. But you’ve gotta stop trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s only gonna weigh you down.”

Steve sighed, trying to focus on the road. Although Bucky’s words still stung a little, even after his apology, Steve reminded himself that he’d only spoken out of a lack of understanding. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders not by choice, but by necessity. The Avengers, as powerful as they were, needed someone to take ultimate responsibility for their collective actions. He couldn’t say exactly why it had fallen on him, but it had. And who was he to try to shirk his duty?

* * *

“It’s not enough to focus on your target,” Bucky explained to Wanda in the training room – actually a wide-open warehouse, with a smattering of exercise equipment in one corner of the gigantic space, and plenty of room to move. Or, in Wanda’s case, move things. “You see, the first thing you need to look at is the space around you. How many exits does this place have?”

“Ah…” She glanced around. “Two.”

“No. There are three. The two doors you counted, and,” Bucky pointed to the wall, “See those rungs leading up to that trapdoor in the ceiling? That’s number three.”

“Oh. I see.”

“And say the thing you’re trying to move,” Bucky gestured at the ball they were practicing with, “Is an explosive.”

Wanda flinched. His words had clearly brought back painful memories. But no matter how much remembering hurt, forgetting it wouldn’t do her any favors. He guessed the rest of the team generally treated her with a lighter touch, but he’d never trained someone by sugarcoating his words, and it felt a little late to start now. He felt for the kid, really. But he wasn’t going to conceal the intentions behind his instructions. 

“Where would you move it to? I know you don’t wanna think about it. But you have to. Because someday it’s going to happen again. You can try to forget what you did, or you can remember and _learn_ from it. So, keeping in mind the space, where would you move it to?”

Wanda grimaced. “I…” she hesitated. “I think I’d move it to the far side of the warehouse, up near the ceiling. Minimize structural damage, and buy us some time to run if the blast compromised the building.”

“Very good,” said Bucky. He turned as the soft click of shoes sounded behind him, echoing in the vast room.

“I heard you’d be here,” said Nat. She wore her Black Widow suit, strutting into the room like she owned the place. Even Bucky, who’d never taken more than an academic interest in female anatomy, couldn’t help but notice that she looked damned amazing in the black catsuit. 

“Steve’s got me doing some training,” Bucky replied.

“Not that I’m nostalgic, mind you… but I thought maybe we could spar together. For old time’s sake?”

Bucky threw her a wry smile. “Ah, yes. Just like the bad old days.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “We don’t have to. I just thought it might be fun. Anyway, it’s been years since we fought and you weren’t trying to kill me, so I figured it might be fun to try a little combat where I _don’t_ take a bullet through the gut.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea.”

Wanda turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “But if you run from it, how are you supposed to learn?” she said with a smug little grin. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. 

“No weapons,” said Natasha. “Just hand-to-hand.”

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“Shall we?” she asked, turning on her heels and walking towards the section of the warehouse with the exercise equipment. She paused between the balance beam and the pull-up bar, squaring up against Bucky. Wanda stood at a cautious distance, clearly intrigued by the prospect of seeing them spar. 

Natasha made the first move, running at Bucky and telegraphing a punch, but dropping at the last second to swing her leg up into a kick. He saw it coming – she wouldn’t be Black Widow if she went for the obvious hits – and caught her leg, flipping her to the ground. She rolled away, swinging the full force of her legs into Bucky’s ankles and knocking him off balance. He fell to the floor, and Nat took the opportunity to circle him, jumping on his shoulders and using her thighs as a vice on the sides of his neck. He could tell from the rushing noise in his head and the fogging of his vision that if he didn’t get her off soon, the pressure on his carotid would cause him to pass out. He slammed backwards onto the floor.

Natasha made a wheezing gasp that told Bucky that his move had hit its target. While she was winded, he rolled free of her legs and sprang to his feet, retreating a few paces to regain his blood flow as she caught her breath. 

This time, as she stood back up, he came at her. He drew his left arm back, hearing the familiar clatter and whir as its mechanisms geared up for attack. He aimed low, for her ribs, careful to pull his punch. She could take a hit, he knew, but he’d hate to inadvertently break her ribs. 

The hit landed, but she braced herself for it and seized his wrist with both hands, ducking into his body weight and using the forward motion of his blow to knock him off balance again. 

He staggered back to his feet, and turned to find her poised on the balance beam.

“Show-off,” he panted.

“Always,” she replied with a smirk. She ran down the beam and launched into a flip, throwing the full weight of her shoulder into Bucky as she collided with him. 

He caught her against him, wrapping his arm around her neck and squeezing – not too tight, but tight enough to constrict blood flow – until she landed a tight, sharp elbow jab into his ribs. He gasped, his grip loosening, and she slipped free, ran to the pull-up bar, and after twirling herself through an effortlessly elaborate series of flips, launched herself at him again.

“Oh, come _on_!” Bucky hissed as she tackled him. He threw her off, and while she was dizzily regaining her balance on the floor, he stepped over her, catching her arms in a wrestling hold. “Looks like your showing off got the best of you,” he smirked, secretly relieved that he’d been able to best her.

“Did it, though?” she asked. She donkey-kicked upwards, hitting the back of Bucky’s knee. Knocked off-balance, he lost his grip on her arms and staggered forward. She rolled free and jumped to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest in a confident stance that told Bucky that their sparring was over.

“You’ve come a long way since I first met you,” Bucky panted.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And you got cocky once you decided you had me pinned.”

He rolled his eyes. She was right, he knew, but he was loath to admit it. He looked over at Wanda, who looked thoroughly entertained by the spectacle. _She’s probably thrilled to see her hardass new teacher getting his ass handed to him_ , he thought. 

All three of them turned when they heard the door nearest to them open. Steve walked in, flanked by Tony and Sam.

“Hey guys,” said Nat.

Bucky, still sitting on the ground, scrambled to his feet. He could tell from the furrow between Steve’s eyebrows that whatever had brought them into the training room wasn’t good news.

Steve cleared his throat. “We just received some troubling intel. And I think we all need to prepare for a mission.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload/short chapter. The past 24 hours have been really not-fun for me (a lovely combination of work-related anxiety and a depression flare-up, yaaaay), and I've barely had the time or the energy to write. I'll do my best to get the next chapter written this evening, but depending on how I'm doing, it might not get finished until tomorrow night. 
> 
> Sorry, and thanks as always for reading. <3

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m gonna be cleaning up after the mess I made with Ultron for the rest of my damn life?” Tony said, groaning.

“To be fair,” said Nat, “It’s not like this sort of situation is unique to what happened in Sokovia. If it weren’t happening there, it’d probably be happening somewhere else. It’s not as if the world wouldn’t have refugees without us.”

“Stop trying to make him feel better,” said Sam. “He loves wallowing.”

“Oh, don’t be a dick,” Nat replied snappily. 

“Can we _please_ focus on the mission?” Steve implored, gesturing at the map laid out on the table in front of them. “People are counting on us. Your bickering isn’t doing them any favors.”

They were all on edge. They usually got this way before missions – it was impossible to ignore the tension of anticipation. Lashing out at each other was easier than acknowledging the fear behind their shortened tempers. Steve knew that, at least on a rational level. But he couldn’t help but feel it too. He looked over at Bucky and Wanda, standing by silently. 

Bucky stared at the map with a quiet intensity. He seemed to be the calmest out of all of them. Steve wasn’t surprised. The Winter Soldier files had contained reams of documents detailing his missions – mostly solo work, often with no extraction plan. Steve hoped Bucky was ready. He’d been savagely effective as an assassin, and he’d been a skilled soldier back in the war, but his experience fighting in a team of powered people was rather limited. He knew that if the mission was for Bucky to infiltrate the base and slit the throats of every hostile, he’d surely succeed. But that wasn’t the way the Avengers did things. 

Wanda, however, looked on the verge of tears. There was a sad sort of irony to it, Steve thought – she was arguably the most powerful one in the room, yet she had the least confidence. Steve didn’t blame her. Sometimes, it seemed like the events of her life – the death of her brother, the tragedy in Lagos, the way she’d been treated like a monster during their conflict over the Accords – had been designed to undermine her. She rarely talked about Pietro, but Steve could tell that she thought of him constantly. That was how he knew she was strong, stronger than she seemed from her obvious self-doubt. Steve remembered how after Bucky fell, he’d downed endless glasses of whiskey, trying to blunt the pain, blur the edges of his guilt, numb himself against the raw wounds of his loss. Nothing had worked, and he’d wondered how he’d ever make sense of a world without Bucky, when everything felt like it had lost its color. Right up until he nosed Red Skull’s _Valkyrie_ down towards the featureless expanse of ice, and the white abyss of nothingness swallowed him up…

That she kept on fighting at all after losing her twin showed that she was strong. Steve had confidence in her, but he also worried. Was she ready? Bucky had spent the past few days training her, sure, but could a few days really make a difference? Regardless, they couldn’t postpone their mission. The stakes were far too high to delay.

“Here’s what we know,” said Steve. “The aftermath of our battle against Ultron in Sokovia created widespread destruction in the surrounding area. The destruction led the already fragile Sokovian state into chaos. Last week, an opposition party staged a coup. It was unsuccessful, but the aftermath has been martial law and widespread violence, much of it centered around the already-damaged regions around the site of Ultron’s drop-a-city-on-the-world attempt. Civilians have been fleeing the area, hoping to find safety from the violent political conflict. But we recently learned that a mysterious paramilitary group that calls itself The Final Head, connected to a number of known HYDRA and A.I.M. affiliates, has been kidnapping refugees, often under the guise of helping them leave Sokovia.”

“To what purpose?” asked Natasha. 

“That’s the worst part,” said Steve. “They’re apparently determined to continue the sort of physical enhancements and mind control that HYDRA did.” He cast a glance at Bucky and Wanda. “We don’t know the specifics, but we know that these people are in danger. The Final Head is hoping to kidnap people who nobody will realize are missing, and carry out human experimentation on them.”

Steve heard the whispering clicks of Bucky’s left hand tightening into a fist. “How soon can we be there?” Bucky asked, his voice taut with anger.

“We fly out as soon as we go over the plans to their base,” said Steve. “I want this mission to go smoothly. Our first priority, as always, is ensuring the safety of civilians. No collateral damage. We want to get every refugee out of there safely. This is a rescue mission, first and foremost. And I want everyone to be focused. Remember your training. We need to act as a team. If we don’t have each other’s backs, we’re going to put ourselves and each other in danger.” 

They circled up around the map, studying the blueprints of the base. _I’ll hold this team together if it’s the last thing I do_ , thought Steve.

* * *

As Natasha nosed the Quinjet down at a cautious distance from the base – even with cloaking enabled, the stirring of the trees as they landed could give away their position – Steve looked over at Bucky. He sat opposite Steve, not making eye contact with anyone, staring intently into the floor instead. He’d dressed for the mission in the sort of tactical suit he felt most comfortable fighting in – head-to-toe black, the body of his jacket reinforced with Kevlar, and plenty of straps and pockets for his weapons. 

Steve couldn’t help but feel afraid. Working alone, in stealth, Bucky was practically unstoppable. But fighting in the open with a team was something he’d barely done since the war. At the airport, he’d been subdued by a chatty teenager who shot spider webs out of his wrists. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Bucky – he did – but he still felt the tight ball of nervousness in his stomach. He always felt a bit nervous before missions, sure, but this was different. Because it was _Bucky_.

As they disembarked the Quinjet and made their way silently through the woods, scanning for hostiles as they approached, Steve raised his hand, signaling for them to stop. He gestured them closer, wanting to talk but not wanting to alert any potential enemies lurking in the trees to their presence.

“Remember what I said,” Steve murmured. “The primary goal of this mission is rescuing the refugees. And we need to do that by sticking together. Tony, Sam, and I will lead the way in. Wanda, I want you on the defensive. Block any attacks you see coming. Natasha and Bucky, you’ll be our flank. Take out anyone you see who tries to approach us from the side or from behind. And remember – the best way to stop these monsters, and rescue these people, is if we use our skills as a team.”

“Decent pep talk,” said Tony, before his mask slid into position over his face. “Now let’s go do some Avenging.”

They set off into the woods, towards the base. As Steve held his shield in front of him, he could almost imagine they were back in the war. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it felt like coming home.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Finally finished this chapter, yay! 
> 
> And when I tagged "canon-typical violence," this chapter is mostly what I'm warning about. It's not super-graphic, but Bucky definitely gets medieval on some some bad guy asses. 
> 
> Also, thanks for all your kind and supportive words yesterday! I really appreciate it. <3

Bucky felt the red string of rage pulling at him, tautening in his chest and making his heart hammer like a fist against his ribcage. This time, though – for the first time since he’d been fully the Winter Soldier – he didn’t fight it. It was Judgment Day for these HYDRA-wannabe bastards, and he was an avenging angel. 

As he crept through the woods, he took stock of his weaponry. Steve had let him arm himself “with whatever he felt most comfortable with,” as he’d put it. And as much as he liked to put the darkness of his past behind him, he’d been unable to deny himself the weapons he’d grown familiar with as the Winter Soldier. A Skorpion machine pistol leant its familiar weight between his shoulder blades, a SIG-Sauer P220 rode in its holster against his right thigh, and twin Gerber Mark II knives sat in their sheathes on other side of his hips. ( _He remembered lashing the same kind of knife at Steve’s face, at that face that was both hauntingly familiar and a complete stranger’s…_ ) Everything about how he’d outfitted himself – the black tactical pants, sturdy boots, Kevlar-reinforced jacket, right down to his choice of weapons – felt ripped out of his own nightmares. But creeping through European woods with Captain America – that felt like a distant dream from a past life. 

A few paces later and the base loomed in front of them, featureless gray walls topped with razor wire. He slowly drew the pistol out of his thigh holster, his eyes carefully scanning for subtle movements. Steve, Tony, and Sam fanned out in front of him, Natasha at his side and Wanda just behind. _Remember your surroundings, kid_ , he wanted to remind Wanda, but it was too risky to speak. 

The six of them slowly rounded the corner of the compound, looking for an entrance. They found it, along with two guards. Tony raised his hands, subduing them with simultaneous energy blasts from his Iron Man suit. As they entered the main wall of the base, Bucky mentally reviewed the blueprints they’d studied. Directly ahead of them lay the huge, squat building that took up the bulk of the compound. It had four main entryway-exits, one on each side of the building. Most of the windows were little more than slits, too small for a human to fit through. The place had once been a prison during the region’s Soviet past, but after the Berlin Wall fell and the U.S.S.R. disintegrated, it sat abandoned. Until The Final Head – God, what a stupid name, he thought – decided to carry on HYDRA’s legacy at the expense of innocents. ( _At least when HYDRA had taken him, he’d been a soldier. He’d have killed the men who took him in a second, given the opportunity. But these people were civilians. Just regular, common people fleeing from their accidental place in crossfire of political violence, now caught in a web of atrocities too awful to speak._ ) 

The pull of rage in his chest grew, his jaw steeling and every muscle in his body tensing for a fight. T’Challa and Tony had succeeded in ridding him of his HYDRA triggers, but as they entered the doorway of the base and he slipped the SIG-Sauer back into its holster, reaching over his shoulder for the lethal efficiency of the Skorpion, he knew that some shards of the Winter Soldier lived within him still. The tension within him was undeniably some mutated form of the fight-or-flight response, but there was no question – every fiber of his being screamed _fight_. The things HYDRA had done to him were more than just mind control and memory wipes. Even his instincts had been molded into something knife-sharp and violent, lethal efficiency etched into his muscle memory.

As a guard rounded the corner, his eyes fixating on Cap’s shield, widening with so much shock and fear that Bucky could see the glint of their whites from down the hall, he didn’t feel anything other than hard-edged rage. The guard screamed for reinforcements and, Steve’s shield flew forward, colliding squarely with the guard’s head. Steve rushed forward to recover his shield, and they pressed forward, maintaining their formation. 

The six Avengers rounded the corner of the hallway as a bevy of heavily armed men came running towards them, guns blazing deafeningly, the echoes reverberating down the corridor. Steve braced his shield in the front of their formation. Bullets were flying, but many of them seemed to fly off-course into the walls – Wanda’s powers at work. Bucky glanced over at Natasha as she mirrored him as they rushed forward alongside Steve, Sam, and Tony, guns aimed at their assailants. Bucky unleashed a burst from the Skorpion, and three of the hostiles fell. Natasha took out two more with her pistol, and Sam and Tony blasted away the next wave. The final three flew back into the wall behind them as if the Hulk had thrown them. 

“Nice work, Wanda!” Steve said. 

They hurried down the temporarily unguarded hallway weapons at the ready. Their intel told them that the refugees were being held in a group cell in the center of the building. Shouts echoed down the hall, as the members of The Final Head responded to the flurry of gunshots. 

Abruptly, a door flew open alongside Bucky. The man in the doorway clearly hoped to ambush them, his Kalashnikov aiming for Bucky’s torso. Bucky whirled, acutely aware of his augmented reflexes, as his left hand flew forward, crumpling the barrel of the rifle as he flung it aside. Simultaneously, his right hand drew one of his knives – no point wasting ammo on such an easy target – and buried it up to the hilt in the man’s shoulder. The man let out an agonized scream. Bucky pushed him to the floor, pulled the knife roughly from his shoulder – eliciting another shriek – and knelt on the man’s chest.

“Tell your ex-HYDRA friends,” he said as he wiped the blade clean against his pants, “That the Winter Soldier remembers everything. And he’s gonna make sure they don’t forget.” He stood, sheathing his knife, and followed the other Avengers down the hallway, his pulse hard but steady. The man writhed on the floor, clutching his shoulder. 

Bucky had spent the past few years trying to run from the Winter Soldier, trying to piece together who he’d been before from the few shattered fragments he’d scraped up, bit by bit, from his memories. But whatever he was now, he knew he lay somewhere between soldier and Soldier. 

They turned another corner, entering cavernous section of the hall that he remembered from the blueprints. It was a good ten meters wide and thirty meters long, and had perhaps served as a mess hall of sorts at some time. At the far end lay a twin set of reinforced metal doors. Behind them, he knew, were the people they hoped to rescue. ( _He wouldn’t let them end up like he did._ ) Two hallways fed into the hall at the end where the doors lay, and he could tell from the clamor rising from both of them that they were about to encounter hostiles, and a lot of them. 

“Get in formation!” Steve yelled. “Tony and I in front, Bucky and Nat flanking, Sam and Wanda covering the back!”

Bucky drew both his guns, the Skorpion his left hand and the SIG-Sauer in his right. He squared up alongside Steve, guns trained on the left hallway. He glanced at his teammates – Falcon training his wrist-mounted guns forward, Scarlet Witch half-crouched, her fingers crackling with tendrils of red light, Black Widow dual-wielding pistols, aimed toward the right door, Iron Man with his palm extended, ready to fire, and Captain America squared up to fight, angling his shield in front of him. For the first time that day, Bucky felt a twinge of fear. Not for himself, but for Steve. _Why you gotta always go into battle with just a shield?_ he wondered. _You’ve always had more guts than sense, Stevie._

When their foes rounded the corners, pouring into the room with the staccato blare of gunfire, Bucky responded in kind. He felt something in him shift further into the Winter Soldier, but instead of revulsion at the tug of anger and lethal efficiency, he yielded to it, allowed it to overtake him. He had a monster inside him, undoubtedly. But it was his monster to use, his to turn into a tool. He was a fist, but no longer the fist of HYDRA. And everything they’d formed him into was his to turn against everything they stood for. 

He felt something gently knock into his boot. It was a light tap, but his heightened senses registered it instantly, and he looked down. The bastards had rolled a grenade into the center of the Avengers’ formation, and it had come to a stop at his feet. In a split-second, he considered his options. He couldn’t kick it towards the door; it might blast through and injure the people behind it. He couldn’t kick it backwards; Sam and Wanda were there. Cap’s shield could contain the blast, but he was several meters away, and without his shield, he’d quickly become a magnet for The Final Head’s bullets. He knew there was only one choice. He fell to the floor, curling around the grenade, clutching it to his chest with his vibranium-alloy hand to better limit the blast radius. 

“Grenade!” he shouted. He squeezed his eyes shut, so tight that the afterimage of light traced frost-like violet patterns against the black. _I’m sorry, Stevie. If it’s you or me, I’m gonna pick you. Every damn time._

Suddenly, he felt the vertiginous sensation of abruptly flying across the room, and all the air in his lungs exited with a wheeze as he slammed into the dual metal doors. He was bafflingly _alive_. Staggering to his feet, he saw Wanda from several meters away, her entire focus centered around the grenade. It writhed with those strange tendrils of red light as she slowly lifted it, containing its explosion, then hurled it down the hallway, far behind them. The blast shuddered through the building, but somehow, they were all still alive. 

Bucky pushed himself to his forearms, the handful of remaining Final Head members between him and the rest of the team. One stood just in front of him, presumably assuming him to be either dead or unconscious. _Foolish man_ , he thought, drawing one of his knives and slashing for the man’s Achilles tendon. The man screamed and fell. Bucky scrambled for his Kalashnikov, and wresting it from him, fired it up at the man standing beside him, aiming for the kneecaps. He fell, and Bucky scrambled to his feet, stepping over the man, training the rifle at his head. The rest of The Final Head had already fallen. The room was silent, except for the whimpering of the man whose ankle he’d just cut open.

“The Winter Soldier that HYDRA made me into would’ve killed you the moment he saw the chance,” Bucky hissed down at the man squirming and crying below him. “But whatever I am now, I don’t wanna take lives unless it’s kill or be killed. Not because you deserve mercy, but because I’ve got more blood on my hands than I can wash away, and I don’t need any more faces haunting me. But remember that you’ll be paying for what you tried to do to these people,” he gestured at the metal doors, “for the rest of your miserable life. And every time you wish you had working knees again, I hope you think of me.”

He stepped over the man and up to the double doors. They were locked, but all it took was a firm pull from his left arm, mechanisms whirring as he burst through the lock. 

The six Avengers stepped forward, into the vast and shadowy room. There were scores of people huddled around its edges, whites of their eyes shining fear into the darkness. “It’s okay,” Steve said. “We’re taking you out of here.” 

Slowly, the room began to stir, palpable terror slowly melting into guarded optimism. Bucky looked down as he felt something brush his left hand. A child, certainly not older than seven or eight, looked up at him, hand outstretched towards Bucky’s in curiosity. He looked scared, but too fascinated to back away. Bucky looked down at him, and felt the stirrings in his chest that signaled that his body had left fight mode, and the coldness that he’d channeled – intentionally, for the first time – as he’d fought melted away. He curled the corners of his mouth upwards into a smile. The wide-eyed boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he slowly returned the expression, revealing a missing front tooth. 

Bucky blinked back tears. This wasn’t the end of his absolution – not even close – but for the first time since the train, he felt that whatever he was, it might be something good.


	42. Chapter 42

“I’ve got Fury on the line. He’s tipping off the Joint Terrorism Task Force about the situation here, but we need to clear out. Apparently he’s made some sort of ‘arrangement’ with them that while the political situation with us is getting sorted out, we can operate as long as they have plausible deniability that we weren’t here,” said Natasha. 

“Are there any strings that man _can’t_ pull?” asked Sam, shaking his head. 

Bucky walked over to Wanda, who stood a few paces away from the rest of the Avengers, watching the refugees as they blinked against the sunlight, families huddling together in still-anxious relief. 

“That could have been me,” she said, watching a young girl grasping her brother’s hand, staring with saucer-huge eyes at the Avengers. 

“Maybe,” agreed Bucky. 

“If Strucker hadn’t…” she trailed off. “Maybe Pietro and I could have left. Maybe he’d still be…” she left the final word unsaid, her throat letting out a soft choking sound as she bit back tears.

Bucky rested his hand on her shoulder. _She’s just a kid. So was I, when they took me. At least, it feels that way now._ “There’s no changing the past,” Bucky said, sighing. “Believe me. I’ve spent a lot of time wishing I could undo everything since the day I fell off that train. But you can’t change it. Accepting that doesn’t make coping with the past any easier, but it does help with figuring out how to make the best out of it.” 

“I don’t know,” said Wanda. “I don’t know how to make the best of it.”

“You saved my life in there,” said Bucky. “And I’ve spent a long time thinking that my life isn’t worth much. But it’s something. And we couldn’t have done it without you. You didn’t just save me, you saved all these people,” he said, gesturing to the refugees. “And I know neither you nor I asked to become what we are, but you helped save everyone standing in front of you from the same fate. If that’s not making the best of it, I don’t know what is.” 

Wanda bowed her head. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I need some time to think.” She turned and walked away. _How the fuck did I end up giving life advice?_ he wondered.

Bucky turned around, letting her go. He looked back at Steve. He hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d first freed the refugees. His face was uncharacteristically pale, a shade Bucky hadn’t seen since he’d last seen Steve bedridden with illness in Brooklyn. No, that wasn’t true – he’d seen it more recently. When his mask had fallen off as they’d fought, and Steve had gasped “ _Bucky?_ ” at him.

Bucky tried to catch his eye, but Steve refused to look at him, his mouth set in a tight line. Sam walked up to Bucky, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy. Good job,” he said.

“At least you seem to think so,” Bucky said, casting a pointed glance at Steve.

“I don’t think he’s too thrilled about your attempt at heroism,” said Sam.

“When I went to the Smithsonian,” said Bucky, “They had a display on why Steve got selected for Project: Rebirth. It said he jumped on what he thought was a live grenade during Basic. Everyone else ran away, but he didn’t. Impressed the guys in charge, apparently.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that story before,” said Sam. 

“So how does he have any right to give me the cold shoulder?” asked Bucky. “He would’ve done the same. He already did do the same.”

“Well, nobody ever accused Steve of being completely rational. At least, not when it comes to _you_ ,” Sam replied. 

Bucky shook his head. 

“For the record,” said Sam, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder, “Thank you. If Wanda hadn’t acted so quickly, we’d owe all our lives to you.”

“It was the only choice I had,” said Bucky.

As they returned to the Quinjet, Bucky turned back to look at the crowd of refugees, waiting for the authorities to arrive and transport them to somewhere with food, shelter, and medical care. The little boy who’d touched his hand stood near the edge of the crowd, his wide eyes fixated on Bucky. Bucky locked eyes with the boy, and flashed him a smile that he hoped came across as reassuring, raising his left hand in a small wave. The boy shot back his gap-toothed grin, and ran back to his parents. Bucky smiled to himself. Steve was angry with him, sure. But as he looked over the crowd of people who would now avoid the sort of nightmare experimentation that he and Wanda had both endured, he felt something loosen in his chest that had been clenched tight for decades. He had a purpose, and he was going to fulfill it.

* * *

After a tensely silent Quinjet flight and similar drive back to D.C. from the New Avengers Facility, Steve dropped Natasha and Sam off at their respective homes and took Bucky and himself back to their apartment. He refused to make eye contact with Bucky until he clicked the door shut. Bucky almost flinched as Steve turned to him, his eyes steeled with anger, tempered by the wet shine of barely-restrained tears. 

“Don’t. _Ever_. Do. That. Again,” Steve spat, each word sharp as one of Bucky’s knives. 

“You would’ve done the same. You _did_ do the same,” retorted Bucky. 

“It was different.”

“No. It wasn’t. How the hell do you think I would've felt if I'd found out you'd died during _Basic_ , Stevie?”

Steve turned away, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were paper-white. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and with his back turned to Bucky, murmured through anger and tears, “I thought I was gonna lose you, Buck. After everything, I was gonna lose you like _that_ , and it would be all my fault for bringing you onto the Avengers…”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulder, spinning him around to face him. “No.” Steve always pulled this sort of shit, acting like he was singlehandedly tasked with holding the world together. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I chose this. I chose _you_. And I chose the Avengers, too. I’m not doing this because it’s safe. I’m doing it because it’s the only way I know to make the Winter Soldier into something more than just a force for evil. Don’t you _dare_ try to take that away from me out of some sort of misguided protectiveness. I don’t like being told what to do. I spent enough time being controlled by other people.”

Steve looked as if he’d been slapped. “No, Bucky. It’s not like that.”

“How is it not like that?” Bucky retorted. 

“It’s not about trying to control everything. Yeah,” Steve admitted, sighing through his tears, “I know I do that. But I was _terrified_ , Buck. I love you, I love you so much it _hurts_ , and I thought I was gonna lose you. I was so scared,” he confessed, falling to his knees in front of Bucky, his strong hands trembling as he grasped Bucky’s thighs. “I can’t lose you,” he sobbed.

Bucky felt his pulse hammering in his temples, his anger dissolving into guilt. “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he mumbled. “I had to jump on it, you know. I was outta options. And I couldn’t let it take out our friends. Or you.” 

“I know,” Steve replied miserably, leaning his head into Bucky’s hips. “But you’re the best thing in my whole world, Bucky. And I don’t know how I could go on without you. I don’t know how I did it for so long.”

“Well, here I am. I have no right to be alive today, but my heart’s still beating. And dammit, Steve, I’m in the Twenty-First Century with the love of my life, and I’m gonna make the best of it.” He looked down at Steve, at the beautiful, stubborn, perfect, headstrong man in a pose of pleading vulnerability between his legs. 

“Oh?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. The questioning, yielding look in Steve’s blue eyes, his lashes looking even thicker than normal from the moisture of his tears, sent a warm tingle of longing down Bucky’s body, his cock plumping in his tactical pants.

Steve wiped the tears from his cheeks. “How?” he asked. Bucky palmed his fingers through Steve’s hair, then traced one finger slowly down his jaw, catching his chin in his hand. 

“Let me show you,” Bucky said, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register as he spoke. The tension of his rapidly hardening cock against the stiff fabric of his pants was growing torturous, but his mind whirled with plans for what he was gonna do to Steve, and he was going to take his damn time with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Make-up sex! 
> 
> I'm planning on two more chapters -- the next one, of course, being pretty much porn, and the final chapter serving as an epilogue of sorts. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! <3


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had waaaay too much fun writing a little light Dom/sub Stucky, so I hope you all enjoy it! <3

Bucky wrapped his right-hand fingers in Steve’s short hair, tilting his head back so Steve was forced to look up at him, his neck stretched upwards, the flutter of his pulse visible under the velvet-smooth skin of his throat. 

“Darling,” Bucky murmured in his low, rough voice, speaking in the tone that he knew Steve associated with sex, “You always wanna take the lead.” He ran one left-hand finger up the side of Steve’s neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he reacted to the cold metal against his warm skin. “But how about for tonight,” Bucky slowly brushed his finger against Steve’s lower lip, dragging against the soft pout of his mouth. “Just for tonight,” he slowly slid his finger into Steve’s mouth, the sensors registering the warm wet heat, the slick press of Steve’s tongue against his digit. “I play the leader.” 

Steve looked up at Bucky with wide, hungry eyes, sucking his finger deep into his mouth as if it were a cock, never taking his eyes off Bucky’s. Bucky took in a shuddering breath, the combination of sensation and the mere sight of Steve eagerly pleasuring his finger only worsening the strain of his cock against his pants.

Stepping back from Steve and withdrawing his finger from Steve’s mouth, he reached down to unbutton his pants. “What do you say, Stevie?”

“Yes,” Steve breathed, remaining on his knees before Bucky.

“I don’t just want a ‘yes,’ darling. I want you to ask for it. I want you to beg for it.”

Steve licked his lips, his eyes sparking with something between excitement and apprehension. But Bucky knew Steve, knew him better than anyone, and Steve Rogers wasn’t someone who ran from a challenge. Granted, he also wasn’t someone who liked following other people’s orders all that much – he’d proven it when he’d tried to enlist time after time, he’d proven it when he’d disobeyed his commanding officer to rescue Bucky and the other POWs, and he’d proven it again with the Accords. But Bucky also knew that Steve, for all his courage and all his leadership, would always be the same guy inside that he’d been back in Brooklyn. Stronger in many ways, and more damaged in others, but still the same skinny little 4-F guy deep down within the core of his being. And the guy he’d been – the guy he still was – would follow Bucky to Hell and back. And tonight, Bucky was planning on taking him somewhere _much_ better than Hell. But something perverse in him – maybe it was the Winter Soldier, or maybe it was some dark urge he’d held inside himself forever – wanted to make Steve _crawl_ for it.

Bucky raised on eyebrow at Steve. “How bad do you want it, Stevie?”

Steve licked his lips again, murmuring, “I want it. _Please_.” 

“And what is it that you want, my darling?” he rested his hands on his hips, looking down at Steve, at his pretty blue eyes shining with desire.

“I want you to take charge,” Steve said, his voice shaking a bit, but with an underlying force of confidence. “Please, Bucky.”

“And what is it that you want me to take charge _of_?” Bucky asked, dropping his unbuttoned pants and underwear to the floor, then pulling his shirt off and throwing it across the room, standing before the fully-clothed, kneeling Steve fully nude, his stance commanding and his cock straining rigidly towards Steve.

“My body. _Everything. Please_ ,” Steve begged. 

Bucky stepped forward towards Steve. “Good.” He reached down to the neck of Steve’s shirt with his left hand, tearing it in a clean rip down his chest and belly, then pushing the tattered shreds of cotton fabric down Steve’s arms, revealing the rippling arcs and valleys of his musculature. “Now stand up, and take off your pants,” Bucky ordered.

Steve obeyed, carefully undoing his belt and unbuttoning his waistband, and dropping his pants to the floor, revealing long, strong thighs and muscled calves. He wore black boxer briefs, the outline of his erection obscenely clear against the thin fabric.

“Now, your underwear,” Bucky commanded. Steve peeled them down his legs, standing before Bucky like some sort of Greek statue. _But he’s got a much bigger cock than the Greeks ever sculpted_ , Bucky thought, drinking in the beauty of Steve’s physique. 

“What do you want me to do next?” asked Steve. “I can suck it, if you want,” he said, gesturing at Bucky’s cock, so engorged that the tip was blushing purple-red and glistening with pre-come. 

“No,” said Bucky. “Not yet, darling. Get on your knees.” Steve did as he was told. “Now lean forward on all fours. Good. Now turn around for me.” Steve crawled his way around, so his ass was spread wide below Bucky. “Good,” said Bucky, kneeling down between Steve’s calves. “Spread your legs, Stevie. Nice and wide. Yes, like that.” He ran one metal finger lazily from Steve’s lower spine, down his tailbone, and between his buttocks, tracing his way to the puckered entrance to Steve’s ass. The feeling of cool vibranium alloy against the hyper-sensitive flesh of his anus caused his muscles to spasm slightly, and Bucky’s cock grew impossibly harder as he watched the twitch of Steve’s hole, the inviting pulse of the opening sending sharp spikes of electric lust coursing through Bucky’s loins. 

As much as he wanted to bury his cock deep in Steve’s ass that very instant, he was determined to drag out their activities for as long as he could bear. “Stay right where you are,” Bucky ordered, rushing to the bedroom to grab the bottle of lube he’d finally sprung for a few days after the end of his trial. He settled back in behind Steve in the middle of their living room, continuing to admire those smooth buttocks, strong thighs, tight asshole. He smoothed his hands over Steve, grasping at the crease between his hips and his thighs, and leaned forward, bracing himself against Steve as he licked slowly up one thigh, then the other, before gently pressing his mouth to the opening of Steve’s hole, then tracing slow circles with the very tip of his tongue around the rim of his ass. 

“Ohhh,” Steve moaned. Bucky fluttered his tongue against Steve, tasting the salt and musk of his sweat. With soft, exploratory licks, Bucky eased his tongue against the tense ring of muscle, slowly working to loosen Steve’s body. Steve’s soft whimpers told Bucky that he was ready for more, and he extended his tongue into a firm point, pushing it confidently into the taut hole. Steve gasped, and Bucky began bobbing his head slowly, thrusting into Steve with his tongue, spit slicking his chin from his efforts.

“Please, more,” Steve gasped.

Bucky pulled his mouth away, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. “What did I tell you, my darling?” he said, swirling one finger lazily around the entrance to Steve’s ass. “I’m in charge tonight. And if you wanna make requests, you’re gonna have to beg. And then _maybe_ I’ll consider them.”

“ _Please_ , Bucky,” Steve said, his voice shaky with desire, “Please give me more.”

“More of what, Stevie? What are you begging for, my darling?”

“Your mouth. Your fingers. Inside me. _Please_.” Steve widened the stance of his knees, presenting himself to Steve even more. His new position spread him open, revealing a little blush of pink flesh in the center of the pigmented pucker of his anus. _God, Stevie. When they gave you the serum, they even made your asshole perfect_ , he thought, feeling the heat of desire flow feverish though his body, dissolving away all thoughts other than what he was going to do to Steve.

“You’re so good at begging, Stevie. You’re so good at being good to me. So I’m gonna give you what you want, darling, at least for now.” Bucky bent back over Steve, his tongue lapping slow circles around and into him. He withdrew, grabbing the lube and drizzling a generous amount up and down the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand, and began working his fingertips in slow, massaging circles against the ring of muscle, easing into the silky warmth of Steve. Steve let out a little gasp as Bucky’s fingers slid into him, rolling his hips back to take more of him until Bucky’s fingers were in as far as they could go. Bucky moved his fingers in a stroking, come-hither motion, and as Steve let out a shuddering cry, he knew he’d found his target. 

“Do you like that?” Bucky asked in his low, rough voice, leaning over Steve’s back to whisper against his shoulder.

“Y-yes,” Steve stammered, his face flushed with pleasure. 

“Good,” said Bucky, pulling his fingers out of Steve. “But I think we’re gonna do something different now.”

Steve looked up at Bucky with pleading eyes. “Oh?” he whined. Bucky sprang to his feet, circling Steve to stand in front of him.

“Yes, darling. It doesn’t get to be all about you, you know.” Bucky took his cock in his hand, moving his fist up and down the shaft in firm strokes. It was the first time in the night that he’d stimulated it at all, and even the sensation of his own familiar hand was almost unbearably good. “So what are you gonna do for me, Stevie?”

Steve looked up at him with wide, pliant eyes, his expression so yielding, so eager to please, that Bucky could hardly bear it. “I’ll suck it,” he murmured up at Bucky. “Please, may I suck it?”

Bucky didn’t answer verbally, just grabbed the base of his cock and guided it to Steve’s mouth. Steve took it with sure, hungry strokes, his hands gripping into Bucky’s hips as he angled and opened his throat, taking Bucky in so deep that his lips bumped the dark thicket of hair around his cock. “Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky moaned. Steve looked up, a determined spark in his eyes that told Bucky that he was loving his submission. It was unsurprising, really – if Steve decided to do something, he resolved to do it _well_. 

Bucky reached down to Steve’s head, twisting his short hair in his fingers. Slowly, with ever-so-cautious twitches at his hips, Bucky thrust into Steve’s throat, watching carefully to make sure he wasn’t choking his lover. Steve’s eyes widened, then squeezed shut, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Is this good, Stevie?” Bucky asked, his voice tender once again.

Steve nodded around Bucky’s cock, so Bucky began thrusting harder, the feeling of his cock forcing into Steve’s throat sending sharp bolts of pleasure through him. “God, Stevie. I’ve always wanted to fuck that beautiful mouth of yours. And you can’t even tell me not to say ‘fuck,’ either, with my cock all the way down your throat. Do you like that, darling?” 

Steve flashed a glance up at Bucky, nodding as best he could. The sight of those submissive blue eyes was too much, too much to hold back from. Bucky pulled out, and as Steve gasped, wiping the slick of spit from his chin, Bucky took his cock in his hand, moving it in rapid, hungry strokes. “I wanna come on you, Stevie. How would you like that, darling?”

“Please do it,” said Steve, his voice hoarse from what his throat had just endured.

“You gotta beg, Stevie,” Bucky said, but he knew it was all bluster – he was going to come in seconds whether or not Steve begged.

“ _Please_ come on me,” Steve pleaded, but before he could finish the sentence, Bucky was already there, every nerve ending in his body exploding at once, thick ribbons of come splattering across Steve’s throat and chest.

Bucky staggered back, gasping. “You’re too goddamn much, Stevie, you know that?” Steve squirmed on his knees, obviously so aroused that he couldn’t sit still. Bucky looked down at Steve’s cock, pink and rock-hard and glistening at the tip. “I’m almost ready to get you off, darling. But first you need to get me hard again. How are you gonna do that? I’ll let you get creative this time, okay?”

Steve nodded, and fucking _crawled_ towards Bucky, taking his hands in his own and pulling him to the floor. Steve lay back, his hands still grasping Bucky’s, and once Bucky was on top of him, their chests both a mess of sweat and come, he parted his rubbed-red, pouting lips, wrapped his fingers in Bucky’s hair, and pulled him down into a kiss. 

At first it was all half-bruised lips and soft yielding, but then Steve’s firm, slightly-rough tongue slid upward, tracing a slow circle around Bucky’s lips. Bucky responded with his own tongue, the heat and texture raising the pulse in his limp cock. Steve traced his hands slowly down Bucky’s back, cupping his ass and pulling his hips against his own, the rigidity of his cock pressing into Bucky’s belly. As he raked his fingers back up Bucky’s back, Bucky felt his cock beginning to grow plump, the sensation of resting against Steve’s desire-swollen balls enough to take him the rest of the way to hardness. 

Bucky pulled away from Steve’s mouth. “You’re too good at this, darling. I can’t ever let you go, you know that?”

“Good,” said Steve. “Please never let me go. I need you, Bucky.”

“I won’t make you beg for that, Stevie,” Bucky said, running his fingers down Steve’s face. “I’m yours. Forever.”

“ _Please_ ,” Steve whimpered, his hands resting on Bucky’s lower back. 

“I promise, Stevie. Till the end of the line, my love.” 

Bucky pulled himself up to his knees, grabbing the lube and slicking his once-again-hard cock with a thick layer of it. Steve lifted his knees and spread his legs, raising his hips to present his ass to Bucky. 

“God, but you’re ready,” Bucky murmured, gently guiding his cock to the entrance of Steve’s ass, giving a few light thrusts – not enough to enter, but enough to put teasing pressure on Steve’s sensitive hole. “This, I’m gonna make you beg for.”

“ _Please_ , Bucky. Give it to me,” Steve moaned.

“Not good enough,” Bucky said roughly, continuing to tease Steve’s ass with the tip of his cock.

“ _Pleasepleaseplease_ , give it to me, give it to me,” Steve begged. 

“What am I giving to you, darling?” Bucky cajoled. Instigating Steve’s agonized desire was getting him achingly hard again, the warm satisfaction of orgasm replaced with the hungry throb of desire. 

“I want your cock. In my ass. _Now_. I want you to _fuck_ me, Bucky, and I know I don’t use that word much, but it’s the only word for what I need you to do to me!”

Bucky smirked, and thrust inside finally, and Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head, his cry a mix of pleasure and pain. “Is this what you want, Stevie?” asked Bucky, his voice thick with his own desire.

“Yes. _God_ , yes!” Steve gasped. 

Bucky rutted into Steve, digging his hands into Steve’s hips as he thrust. Steve was tight, so tight, and the muscles inside him squeezed against Bucky so hard that he almost felt as through Steve was sucking him in, his pleasure-starved ass consuming his cock hungrily. 

“You feel so good, darling. So good,” Bucky murmured, leaning down over Steve as he thrust rhythmically into him. 

“You feel incredible, Bucky. I love feeling you inside me, love feeling you all over me, I love you, I love you, I love you,” Steve babbled, almost incoherent. Bucky placed his lips on Steve’s neck, brushing little kisses up his throat and across his chin, until their lips met. Steve moaned hungrily into Bucky’s mouth. “Right there,” he gasped as Bucky rutted into him, and Bucky continued the same pattern and depth of thrusts, knowing from the contortions of Steve’s face and the twitches of his cock against his belly that he was close. Bucky pressed his lips over Steve’s kissing him deeply, passionately, tongues hot and wet and searching, until he felt Steve convulse below him, crying out into his mouth, and the hot spurt of Steve’s come slicked Bucky’s belly. It was too much sensation, too much to endure, and Bucky came again, his cock spasming inside Steve, the pleasure so soon after his last orgasm that it _hurt_ , almost.

Bucky collapsed on top of Steve, feeling the sticky mess of sweat and come against their skin. He didn’t pull out, but let his cock grow soft inside of Steve. 

“I love you,” Steve murmured weakly. “So much.”

“I love you, Stevie,” replied Bucky. “More than anything. Forever and ever.”

As he lay on top of his darling Steven Grant Rogers, trying to conjure up enough energy to take them to the shower, Bucky sighed contently. It had taken more than a lifetime, but somehow, across time and space and endless horrors, he was _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is the epilogue! Get ready for some corny-as-hell fluff and for me to write a really emotional chapter note about how much I love you all. <3 <3 <3


	44. Epilogue

**THANKSGIVING**

The kitchen in the New Avengers Facility was abuzz with happy chaos, the smell of roasting turkey, buttery potatoes, and tangy cranberry sauce. 

“Can someone give the potatoes a stir?” asked Natasha.

“I’m on it,” said Steve, rushing over with a wooden spoon in hand.

“Are you sure the turkey isn’t done yet?” asked Tony.

“The thermometer says it’s not quite there,” said Sam, peering into the oven. “I’m guessing another fifteen minutes or so, at least.”

“Ugh. Are we _sure_ that thermometer is accurate?” Tony grumbled. “I wish Bruce were here. He’s got the magic touch for recalibrating tools…”

“I hope he’s okay,” sighed Natasha. “I worry about him.”

“You’d like Bruce, Bucky,” said Tony. 

“Steve’s told me that,” Bucky replied as he chopped the ends off of green beans. “He sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” sighed Tony. “We miss him.”

“Speaking of missing people, where’s Vision?” asked Sam. 

“He’s still a little unsure why you’re all celebrating today,” said Wanda. “That, and he doesn’t eat.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Sam said with a shrug.

“I’ll admit I don’t quite understand the holiday either,” said Wanda. “We didn’t exactly learn much U.S. history when I was in school.”

“Well, supposedly the first Thanksgiving happened when the Pilgrims and the Native Americans came together to celebrate a successful harvest,” explained Steve.

“—Which, of course, pretty quickly devolved into the Pilgrims murdering their new friends,” added Sam.

“No,” Steve agreed. “But Thanksgiving became a federal holiday during Lincoln’s presidency, during the Civil War. He wanted to remind everyone to give thanks for everything good and hopeful that America stands for, despite the war ripping the nation apart. I like that.”

“He was probably there when Lincoln signed it into law,” Tony teased.

Bucky snorted in amusement. 

“Hey, don’t think I won’t hit _you_ with old-man jokes tonight, pal,” said Tony. 

“I’ll be honest, Wanda,” Natasha piped up, “I thought it was pretty strange when I first came here from Russia. But I think I more or less get it now.”

“Oh?” asked Wanda.

“It’s not really about the history. It’s about family, and togetherness, and sharing food, and being grateful for the good things we have.” 

“I don’t _have_ a family any more,” Wanda said, her voice achingly sad. 

“None of us do, sweetheart,” said Natasha, wrapping her arm comfortingly around Wanda’s shoulders. “It’s hard, feeling all alone in the world. But we have each other. And I think that’s what Thanksgiving is all about – remembering that despite everything, we have food on the table and people we love to eat it with.”

Wanda gave Nat a small smile. 

“Well said,” said Tony. 

Sam peeked inside the oven. “Turkey’s done!” he announced.

“I call carving duties,” said Tony.

“No,” Steve said sternly. “Last year, you ‘carved’ the turkey, and all you did was snack on some crispy bits and hack it into shreds.”

“I grew up in a house with _chefs_ , Steve. So sue me! And anyway, I love the crispy bits.”

“Bucky should do it,” interjected Nat.

“Oh?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah!” Nat said eagerly. “It’s his first real Thanksgiving since the Forties. And it’s his first Thanksgiving with us. And anyway, he’s really good with knives.”

Bucky looked around nervously. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You’re a great cook,” said Steve. “You’ll be a natural at it.”

“I dunno ‘bout that,” muttered Bucky. “I mostly just make pancakes.”

“…Of course you do,” Tony said with a laugh. “By the way, does IHOP try to card you when you ask for the Senior Special?” 

“Oh, go to hell,” Bucky replied, but he couldn’t help smiling. 

* * *

As they took their seats at the table, admiring the spread of food before them – moist turkey, fluffy mashed potatoes, crisp stuffing, steaming green beans, and tangy cranberry sauce – Steve looked beside him at Bucky. He remembered when he’d walked into Bucky’s reinforced room in Wakanda, and how apparent the pain had been under every small smile, and in every guarded word he spoke. 

Now, Bucky was cracking up at a joke Sam had just made, the crinkles of regret around his eyes replaced with those of laughter. 

Things weren’t always easy – they probably never would be. Bucky still woke up from nightmares on occasion, and every once in a while, he’d stare off into nothingness, his mind returning to some long-past horror he’d known. But as Steve watched him now, his dark hair pulled back into a bun and his smile all toothy grin and sparkling eyes, he knew that things were beautifully, unreasonably good. 

Steve remembered how when he’d been a boy, his mother had always insisted that every Thanksgiving, no matter how little food they had on the table, that both of them share one thing they were thankful for. He recalled how the first year he and Bucky had become friends, he’d told his mother how he was thankful for Bucky, for having a friend who he could count on no matter what. _You’re still what I’m thankful for, Bucky_ , he thought, reaching under the table to give Bucky’s strong thigh a gentle squeeze. As Bucky turned to him and pulled him into a chaste kiss, Steve imagined all the holidays they’d share together, Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays. 

Things weren’t ever going to be simple. That wasn’t the kind of life they lived. But Steve knew that with Bucky at his side, at least life would be _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. I've been procrastinating at writing this final update because frankly, even though I know the story has run its course, I don't really want it to be over. It's been so much fun to write, and I'm gonna miss it. I'll definitely be writing more Stucky soon, however!
> 
> Now, for the part where I get all sappy:
> 
> To every single one of the wonderful people who found and read this story (with an especially huge thank you to those of you who've given me so many kind comments and expressed such enthusiasm throughout this endeavor), I seriously could not have done it without you. I've always loved writing, but I tend to think everything I write is garbage and end up deleting it. On a whim, after reading some really wonderful Stucky fics here on AO3 and thinking, "Eh, maaaaybe I could do this," I decided to try my hand at it. I never imagined that this story would end up as long as it did, and I _certainly_ never imagined that people would actually, y'know, _read_ it. And like it. And tell me that they liked it. I probably would've started doubting myself and given up a long time ago if it wasn't for the incredibly kind folks on here.
> 
> Thank you so much to every single one of you. I've had so much fun with this, and I'll definitely be sticking around here. Thank you for reading, and I really hope you've all enjoyed it. 
> 
> I love you all! <3 <3 <3


End file.
